Space Bound
by aghamora
Summary: Éponine, a seventeen year-old living on the wrong side of the Chicago tracks, had never counted on becoming acquainted with the cop who lived on the floor below, nor had she ever wanted to. In hindsight, however, breaking into his apartment was probably not the smartest of ideas. - - Éponine/Javert, modern-day AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Éponine, a seventeen year-old living on the wrong side of the Chicago tracks, had never counted on becoming acquainted with the cop who lived on the floor below, nor had she ever wanted to. In hindsight, however, breaking into his apartment was probably not the smartest of ideas. - - Éponine/Javert, modern-day AU.

**Note: **I'm back! I know it's been a long, long absence, but during it I wrote about two and a half E/J fics – including this one – a few of which turned out kind of badly and I didn't think were worthy of publishing in their current state. At least one of them will see the light of day again (the sequel to Omnia Sol I posted and then took down) but not until after this one is done and they've undergone some major editing. Anyway, I had a tremendous amount of fun writing this fic, and I'd venture to say it's probably my favorite thing I've written thus far. Just a few quick notes on the universe of this fic before you begin:

1. Valjean isn't included in this story. I chose to explore the other facets of Javert's personality than his obsession with Valjean here, and since I personally wouldn't be too invested in writing an arc with him, I don't imagine it would be very fun for you all to read. Cosette is still around, though she's not a major character.

2. They all have extremely French names and live in America. We'll call that one a plot convenience.

Title and intro lyrics come from the sound "Space Bound" by Eminem. As per usual, this fic is completed and will be updated once a week on Sundays. At twenty chapters, this fic isn't quite as long as my previous ones, and most chapters are around 3.5k words each. This is rated 'T' for now, but in time it will be upped to 'M'.

Anyway, enjoy! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

* * *

_**Space Bound**_

I'm a space bound rocketship  
And your heart's the moon  
And I'm aiming right at you.

* * *

"Fuck!"

"Shit, be quiet 'Parnasse! You want them to hear us?"

"Whoever it is doesn't stand a chance against me."

A ski-mask clad Éponine only rolled her eyes and continued to stumble along in the darkness, bumping a table in the process and nearly sending a lamp crashing to the floor. Montparnasse, meanwhile, was sauntering along without a hint of caution in the little apartment and had twice already knocked something over or ran into a piece of furniture. The break-in had been his idea, and Éponine had only gone along after incessant urging from him. So, he'd picked an apartment in their building by random – with the reasoning that no one would suspect someone who lived in the same building – and she'd picked the lock on the door with a bobby pin. Éponine didn't like how it felt, breaking into someone's home, and usually, she tended to stay away from bigger crimes that could get her real time in juvie. She was content with the occasional petty theft, but the rest of 'Parnasse's friends had been busy tonight and she was the only one left to go with him. He'd promised her half of whatever they got, too, which had convinced her.

She didn't feel good about this, but she kept on anyway, her eyes darting around in the thickness of the night and trying to spot whatever valuables there were. The apartment was as sparsely decorated as she'd ever seen, however, and there wasn't a worthwhile thing to be seen in the whole of the dusty place save for a television that looked like it was from the early nineties and a phone that still had a cord. Éponine thought to herself that it looked like no one even lived there at all, as she'd never seen so many cobwebs in one place.

"There's nothing here," she hissed at Montparnasse, who was eyeing the place furtively as well, "Let's _go_ already."

"Hang on a second."

Éponine ground her teeth together, "I swear to God, 'Parnasse, if we-"

All at once, they heard what sounded like footsteps on the other side of the bedroom door, and Éponine froze, her blood running cold inside her. Montparnasse, however, displayed no such fear and instead strutted directly toward the sound, with one hand on the pistol in his back pocket.

"Someone's coming!" she spat, "Come on, let's go-"

"I can take 'em," he chuckled, "Just stay back."

The footsteps grew closer and closer until they were only feet away, and Montparnasse began to draw his gun with a smirk – but when the door swung open, both Éponine and Montparnasse paled.

It was Javert.

Nearly all the years her family had lived in this building, they'd kept a close eye on the policeman who resided on the floor below them, staying out of sight as best they could and keeping their illegal activities and parties with the neighbors to the minimum whenever he was around – which wasn't often, as he seemed to work 24/7. She'd known of him ever since she was a little girl, back when he'd seemed like a terrifying, emotionless giant, and now, standing right in front of him, Éponine thought that he didn't seem any smaller or less scary now. He was towering, intimidating, a deep scowl carved onto his face and moonlight reflected in his eyes, which seemed to be colder than ice. In an instant, Montparnasse's valor failed him, and he began to stumble backward, running like a scared child. When Éponine finally remembered how to move and began to do the same, she backed into a coffee table and managed to steady herself only long enough to tumble to the side and down to the floor with a thud. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she watched 'Parnasse run as fast as he could out of the apartment without even bothering to look back at her, but when she began to get up to follow him, Javert's voice boomed out from behind her.

"Don't move," he ordered, and she found she was too scared to disobey.

Éponine sighed and rested her forehead against the ground, swearing none-too-quietly under her breath, "Fuck. Shit. _Shit_."

He pulled her to her feet by the back of her hoodie, and before she could put up much of a fight, he had locked her wrists into handcuffs. Then, he bit out as he pushed her toward the door, "If I were in your position right now, those would be my thoughts exactly."

* * *

Though Éponine was sure he could have just called the police to take her away and forgotten about it all, he brought her to the station in the dead of night and insisted on questioning her himself, sitting her down in an empty room with only a table and chairs and ordering her to wait there until he got back. He'd handcuffed her to the chair, and despite her best efforts, she couldn't find any way to free herself, and so she only waited in silence, furious beyond belief and cursing herself for allowing Montparnasse to talk her into helping him.

Damn him, she thought with a scowl. Should've known he'd split if something went wrong and leave her behind to take the heat.

The clock on the wall read almost three in the morning, and her eyelids were beginning to droop with exhaustion as the minutes ticked by and there was no sign of Javert. Just when she was about to start screaming for help – she'd heard about that kid the cops picked up and forgot about, who'd had to drink his own piss for days to stay alive in a room she figured looked just like this one – the door opened, and in stepped Javert, who had a scowl still fixed on his face and a cup of coffee in one hand. He sat down before her without even sparing her a glance, and Éponine thought for a moment that she'd never seen someone with a stick further up their ass. For a while he said nothing, instead only scribbling something down on the paper in front of him, and she rolled her eyes.

"Aren't you going to ask me my name?" she snapped. He glared at her.

"I know who you are."

"What?"

He continued writing, never once making eye contact for more than two seconds, "You're Éponine Thénardier. Louis Thénardier is your father."

"How do you know that?"

"I have broken up too many parties and drug deals between you and your neighbors to count," he replied gruffly, "And I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

Then, for the first time, he looked up at Éponine, and he took in the sight of her through narrowed eyes. She had removed her ski mask upon first arriving at the station, and her messy dark hair was revealed beneath, tumbling just down to her shoulders in slight tangles that were plagued by broken hairs. Her features were sharp, her face thin and her brown eyes appearing almost as though they were too large for her face. She wore sparse makeup, and was clad in a black hoodie and torn jeans – and within seconds of looking at her, Javert knew well the kind of girl she was.

"Why do you live around here, huh?" she asked with a frown, "You're a cop. Move somewhere nicer."

"I'm not here to discuss myself," he reminded her sharply, opening a manila folder and then fixing his eyes on her, "You broke into my apartment. Why?" Éponine didn't answer at first, and he folded his hands on the table, "Who was the boy with you?"

"Why should I tell you?" she scoffed, "You have me. You don't need him."

"You're stupid to protect him. He ran the moment he saw me. Didn't wait for you."

"I'm not going to rat him out, if that's what you want," she said, folding her arms and meeting his eyes fearlessly.

"It wasn't your idea, was it?" he asked as though he already knew the answer, and she lowered her eyes. He leaned forward slightly, in an attempt to look her in the eyes properly, "Don't bother to protect him. If you talk, it'll help you."

Éponine clenched her jaw, thought for a long moment, then finally bit out, "Montparnasse. His name… is Montparnasse."

"Last name?"

"He doesn't have one. Or if he does, I don't know it." Éponine noticed the look of recognition that crossed Javert's face, and she furrowed her brow, "You know him?"

"He has a record. A long one." Javert got to his feet then, collecting his papers and straightening his back.

Again, she frowned, "So…what? What happens to me now?"

"I'm releasing you," he told Éponine as he walked behind her, unlocked her handcuffs, and turned to face her once more.

She blinked, "Just like that? But…I broke into your apartment."

"If you want me to charge you with breaking and entering," he deadpanned, "I'll do it."

"No!" she exclaimed, getting to her feet and massaging her sore wrists, "No."

"All right, then." He raised his chin at her and prepared to leave. Just as he placed his hand on the doorknob, however, he turned back to look at her, "I don't think you're stupid. Don't get yourself arrested again." Éponine shifted her weight awkwardly from leg to leg, uncomfortable beneath his gaze for reasons she could not understand. Finally, after a long pause, he told her, "I won't be nearly as lenient if there is a next time."

* * *

By the time Éponine left the police station, it was five-thirty and the sun was just beginning to rise over the dark, looming Chicago skyscrapers that seemed almost to frown down upon her as she walked. It was the middle of January, and as Éponine began the long journey home on cracked, overgrown sidewalks and through shady alleyways, she couldn't stop shivering, a little shaken by her arrest and still fuming mad at Montparnasse. On the way home, she stopped at a rundown gas station she frequented and bought a packet of cigarettes, as the place was run by a man who barely spoke English and didn't know how to tell the difference between 'seventeen' and 'eighteen' on her ID. She smoked them on the way home, clutching each one tightly between her fingers and praying for it to give her some kind of heat as she walked along in the bitter cold. She pulled up her hood and buried her face into it, but it did nothing to fight off the chill. Her grey, tattered fingerless gloves and old jeans hardly kept her warm either, and by the time she reached her family's apartment building on 52nd street, she was sure she was about to lose her left pinky to frostbite.

With all haste, she hurried into the building and ascended to the fourth floor, then ducked into her apartment and shut the door softly behind her. Upon stepping inside, her eyes were met with a familiar sight: her mom and dad were passed out on the couch after a night of drinking– which, she thought, was better than usual, because most of the time one of them ended up in the alley outside the building, or on the kitchen floor in a puddle of their own vomit. After running her freezing hands under hot water for a minute to thaw them, she ducked into the tiny bedroom she shared with Azelma, which was hardly more than a closet with white, unfinished walls, only to find her younger sister still sleeping soundly underneath her Disney princess sheets.

Gently, she nudged her, "'Zelma. Hey, wake up."

"No," was her sister's groggy reply, "Don't wanna go to school."

"You have to. C'mon. Get up."

"You don't go to school anymore. Why do I have to?"

At that, Éponine chewed her lip and folded her arms with a sigh, "I should, but I can't. Someone around here has to work. Now get up."

After cranking up the heat and warming herself, she removed her hoodie and pulled on a loose, black t-shirt and red sweatpants that she'd had since she was in middle school – though she'd not changed sizes in years, so they didn't bother her much. Quickly, she scurried into the kitchen and microwaved Azelma a plate of leftover mac and cheese from several days before, then set it out on the table just as her younger sister came and took a seat at the table. In silence, she began to eat her meager breakfast, and Éponine walked away with a sigh. Just as she was about to enter the bathroom to splash some warm water on her face, however, she was interrupted in the hallway by an all-too-familiar voice, and she spun around to face it with a frown.

"Hey, 'Ponine."

"_You_," she spat as soon as Montparnasse came into view, and when he moved in her way, she pressed her hands to his chest to shove him aside, "What the hell do you want?"

"Wanted to see how you were," he winked, and she growled.

"_Fuck_ you!" she bit out, "You left me there to take the heat!"

"Obviously it wasn't a lot of heat," he folded his arms and replied smoothly, "They didn't even keep you in holding overnight."

She cocked her head to one side, "What're you doing here?"

"Your dad let me spend the night." Éponine scoffed, then tried to push past him once more and enter the bathroom. This time, however, he caught her wrists and pulled her into him with narrowed eyes, "I just wanted to say thanks, for helping me last night."

"'Parnasse-" she began, just before his lips came crashing down upon hers, stealing the words right off of her tongue. The kiss lasted only a moment, and when he pulled away, she snarled, "Go fuck yourself."

"Mmm," he kissed her once more and chuckled against her lips, "I wanna fuck you."

"We can't!" Éponine hissed, but when he moved his lips to her neck and suckled the tender flesh there, she whimpered, "My sister is still here. A-and my parents-"

"Are out cold. Come on…" He moved his mouth to her ear, and the feeling of his hot breath there weakened Éponine's knees, "We'll be quiet."

Her resistance lying in pieces on the floor, Éponine allowed him to tug her into the bathroom and hoist her up onto the sink, urging her to wrap her legs around him and placing his cold, dry lips on her neck. They knocked a hairdryer and two toothbrushes to the ground in the process, but neither of them paid any attention to it, and she tossed her head back against the dirty mirror, digging her dull fingernails into his shirt and gasping when she felt him dip his hand inside her sweatpants and into her panties, dampening them in seconds. Just as he was about to unzip his jeans, however, her eyes flew open wide.

"Shit!" she swore as she began to kick him off her, "I have to go."

"Stay," he rasped, but she shook her head and maneuvered herself away from him, off the sink and to her feet.

"I have to meet Marius."

Montparnasse scoffed, "You still wet for him?" She glared at him, and he chuckled, "He's a pussy. You could do better."

She gave him a crooked smirk as she scurried into her bedroom and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and the nicest shirt she owned: a simple yellow blouse with red trimming around the sleeves, "Couldn't do any better than him. He's in law school. Has a future."

"And I don't?" he asked with a smirk. She didn't smile in return, and walked toward the door without glancing back at him.

"Fuck off," she chuckled, closing the door in his face and stuffing her hands into her pockets.

* * *

She'd first met Marius when she was bussing tables at a little restaurant a few blocks away from the University of Chicago's campus. It was the cleanest job she'd ever had and paid her a whole dollar over minimum wage, and she'd genuinely liked working there until they'd fired her for mouthing off to a customer.

Marius was, in her eyes, everything in a man she wanted – and everything she was not. He was of average height, with reddish brown hair and freckles dotting his cheeks and nose, and he always seemed to be wearing a sweater, regardless of how hot or cold it was outside. They'd first met when he'd accidentally run into her and knocked the plates out of her hands while she was working, and as he'd helped her sweep up the broken shards of glass, they'd started to talk.

Not that she'd been honest with him about everything, however.

As far as he knew, she was an English major at the university, studying to become a teacher, which was her lifelong goal. She lived off-campus, paying her way through college by working as often as she could. Her parents lived out of state, and she didn't have any siblings. Why had she lied? She wasn't sure, but he was the cleanest, most nice-smelling boy who'd talked to her in a while, and she knew that if she'd told him the truth – that she lived in the projects with criminals for parents and had dropped out of high school her sophomore year – he would look down on her and pity her like everybody else did. One more person's pity wasn't something she'd needed or wanted that day, she thought, and so she'd lied, fabricating a story with ease and earning his respect; a respect she wouldn't have gotten any other way. She'd started to meet him on campus after his classes a few times a month, and they'd walk and talk together of whatever they liked. Her lies were easy to maintain, though she did at times wish she could tell him who she really was; that she wasn't some rich, privileged kid who'd gotten to go to college, or even gotten to graduate high school.

She took the L down to the campus early that afternoon and caught him just as he was leaving one of his classes, clad in a dark purple sweater with a leather laptop case slung over his shoulder and a cup of coffee in his hand. As soon as she saw him, she smiled, then hurried up to him and tapped him on the shoulder from behind with a smirk.

"What the-" he began to say as he turned, but the moment he saw her, he grinned, "Oh, hey 'Ponine."

"Hey," she chirped as she took her place at his side and began to stroll along beside him. She looked down at his coffee and inhaled the pleasant aroma, "Mmm. Smells good."

"What? Oh, the coffee," he grinned, holding it out to her, "Want some?"

She nodded eagerly and smiled, then took a sip and handed it back to him, "Tastes good. Hey, how'd your psych final go?"

"Pretty good. A 'B', which is better than I thought I would get. I still don't think I can wrap my head around penis envy, though."

She nearly snorted, "Penis envy? The hell is that?"

"Freud believed that all women are constantly angry because they don't have penises." She chortled, and he smiled, "I know, I know. It's stupid. How'd your finals go?"

She forced a smile, a lie sliding easily off her tongue, "Good, I hope. Lit wasn't easy."

Marius nodded, and then, he seemed to remember something, "I forgot to tell you last week; I met this girl over break." At once, her heart sank, but, unaware of this, he continued, "Her name's Cosette. God, she's beautiful. Here, I have a picture."

He removed his phone from his pocket, then pulled up an image of him and a pretty blonde girl holding the camera in front of their faces and smiling. In truth, the girl was radiant; her teeth were white and straight, her hair an entrancing, honey shade of blonde, her smile bright and her eyes glowing. Éponine swallowed, devastated by the sight but giving no outward sign of her emotions, and nodded.

"She…she's pretty," she managed to say, and he grinned like a little boy.

"I met her in the library one day. Well…I ran into her. Literally." Éponine clenched her jaw, recalling how he'd met her in the exact same way. Marius did not notice, "We talked for hours – about everything. Music, school, books…" He sighed happily after taking a last sip of his coffee and throwing it away, "I've never felt like this about anyone. She's amazing. I'm seeing her again this weekend. I can't wait." He looked over at her then, and noticed she looked somewhat uncomfortable, "'Ponine? You okay?"

At once, she snapped out of it, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I, uh…" she shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line, "I gotta get to class. See ya."

"Okay. See ya…" he told her, furrowing his brow in confusion, but he did not stop her as she hurried off, disappearing quickly across the campus green.

Though her thoughts were racing madly in her mind as she hurried back to the closest train station, Éponine knew one thing for certain: she needed a drink.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

* * *

Since her parents were veritable alcoholics, it didn't take Éponine long to find a six pack of beers and gulp half of them down.

Because she didn't drink often, it didn't take her much to get drunk, and by the time she made it down the steps and out of her building, to underneath the nearby tracks of the L, her vision was spinning and her speech was slurred. All she knew was that she didn't want to be anywhere near her sister or her parents, and she'd much rather be alone with the darkness of the night, in a place where no one would bother her. So she settled down against one of the concrete supports of the tracks and tipped back another beer, intending to get so drunk that she couldn't even remember Marius's name or why she'd ever liked him in the first place. For half an hour she stayed like that, wallowing in self-pity, until she heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow behind her. She didn't turn and look at whoever it was for a moment, hoping they would have enough sense to ignore her, until they approached Éponine and stopped in front of her, only a few feet away.

When she finally did look up, she met the eyes of the last person she wanted to see: Javert, clad in his uniform and ever-present scowl.

"You," he folded his arms, "What are you doing?"

"Fuck off," she slurred as she took another healthy swig of beer, wiping her mouth and glaring up at him defiantly.

"You aren't twenty-one."

"So?" she snapped. To that, he said nothing and instead only walked up to her, grabbed the beer bottle out of her hand, and broke it against the side of one of the concrete supports without a word, his mien as inexpressive as a statue as he watched the alcohol puddle on the ground.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed, shooting to her feet and wobbling a bit in the process.

"You aren't twenty-one," he repeated, slower this time, and she almost growled.

"Ugh, you're like a robot!" she spat, "And don't _talk_ to me like I'm fucking five years old."

Still, his expression did not change, "Watch your language."

At that, she laughed and walked closer to him, then stuck her face right in front of his and repeated fearlessly, "Fuck."

"You smell like a bar," he cringed at the scent of alcohol on her breath and backed away, "Get home, before you do something stupid."

"Like try to break into your apartment again?" she hiccupped.

"Yes."

Abruptly, her face fell, and her eyes burned with anger as she recalled her meeting with Marius hours ago, "He's a pretentious asshole. I don't know why I _ever_ liked him in the first place!"

Javert furrowed his brow, "What?"

"Marius! Found out today he's screwing some blonde girl." Éponine chuckled, "The kind who wears sweaters and big glasses and probably reads a lot. But she's pretty." She lowered her voice, "Prettier than me."

"I'm not a bartender," he told her, "Spare me."

He began to walk away, toward their building, but she followed him, her usually good judgment hindered by the alcohol and the sudden, overwhelming desire to spill out her sorrows to anyone who was around to listen.

"He's nice – and clean. He's a law student. I always thought one day…he'd ask me out. Take me to nice restaurants." She scowled and hiccupped again, "Like Olive Garden."

"What is it you want?" he turned to Éponine, quickly growing irritated with her, "Advice?"

"Your advice is probably shit," she drawled. He said nothing in reply, only scowled and folded his arms again. She laughed and did the same, raising her chin to the same angle at which he held his and addressing him mockingly, "_Officer_."

"Go home. You're drunk," he stated.

"Really?" she snorted, "I had no idea. Thank you. You know what they should call you?" Javert only stared at her, and she put her hands on her hips, "Inspector Javert. Yes, _Inspector_. You've deduced another mystery!"

He glared at her, "I should arrest you for public intoxication."

"Go ahead," she snickered and pulled a cigarette out of her pocket, then walked toward him, "Got a light, first?"

Though she hadn't expected him to, he pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit her cigarette – and she was about to thank him when he reached out and plucked the cigarette right out of her mouth, dropped it on the sidewalk, and crushed it beneath his shoe.

Éponine stared at him with disbelief for a moment, her mouth agape, "What the-"

"You aren't eighteen either," was all he said.

She let out a roar of fury, "You're such a _dick_!"

"Maybe," he acknowledged her words as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket himself and lit it in front of her. Éponine stared at him incredulously and scoffed.

"So now you're going to smoke in front of me?"

He took a drag of the cigarette and released the smoke before rasping, "Yes."

"You're a shitty role model. You're supposed to be a cop."

"I am," he murmured, "Go home."

An idea formed in her mind, and she smirked, a mischievous sparkle twinkling in her eye, "Fine. I'll go home." Just when Javert thought he would be rid of her, however, she strode up to him, yanked the cigarette out of his mouth just as he'd done to her, and put it in her own. With taunting eyes, she took a long drag of it and blew the smoke boldly in his face, "Goodnight, Inspector."

Éponine stalked away then, into the building and up the stairs, leaving Javert only to watch her go with a scowl on his face and the faint taste of the cigarette she'd stolen from him on his tongue.

* * *

When Éponine returned to her apartment that night, she found herself confronted with a rather unpleasant sight: both of her parents were awake, and sober enough to communicate at least somewhat coherently with one another. Her mom was standing in the kitchen, appearing as though she was making a half-assed attempt at cooking spaghetti, and her father was sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand, laughing raucously at the television, which was playing some sort of montage of people injuring themselves accompanied by a constant stream of canned laughter. Éponine rolled her eyes and tried to shut the door quietly behind her, but she wasn't quiet enough, and only a moment later, her father turned to look behind him.

Mr. Thénardier was a tall, lanky man of forty years with ever-narrowed, scheming eyes and what seemed to be a permanent sneer on his face. He looked older than he was, with gray hair springing up like weeds at his temples, and he had deep wrinkles in his face already, his entire mien hardened and cold. His face was long, his nose large and crooked, his eyebrows thick and bushy, and when their eyes met, Éponine couldn't help but frown at the sight of him.

"_You_," he spat as he got to his feet, "I got home and found half of my six pack gone!" He stumbled closer to her and caught a whiff of the alcohol on her breath, "You think you have the right to drink my beers, you little bitch?"

Éponine clenched her jaw, showing no fear though he was screaming in her face, "Yeah, I do." He took a menacing step toward her and growled, but she raised her chin defiantly at him, fearless in her intoxication, "And I am drunk off my ass, _dad_."

"Shut up," he bit out, "You know that? If it weren't for me," he gestured dramatically to himself and raised his voice, "You'd be out on the damn streets!"

She snapped, "If it weren't for me, we'dve been evicted last month!"

He rolled his eyes and took another drink of his beer, "Get outta my face. Raised you better than this, you know."

"Raised me?" she laughed, "_Fuck_ that!"

Mrs. Thénardier heard that and chimed in with a scowl, surprisingly sober in comparison to her husband and daughter, "Watch your mouth, 'Ponine. Show your father some respect."

"Fuck you," Éponine folded her arms and shook her head, then stumbled over to their mini fridge and pulled out a beer, making sure her father could see everything she was doing. With a taunting smirk, she opened the bottle and took a long drink of it, prompting him to roar, walk over to her, and snatch the thing out of her hand.

"Gimme that," he snapped, "Get the fuck out of here."

"Make me," she tilted her head to one side and scowled. Fury bled into his eyes, for if there was one thing Thénardier didn't like, it was having his orders blatantly disobeyed.

"What'd you say?" he advanced toward her menacingly, yet she remained unafraid.

"_Make me_," she repeated, and her words proved to be enough to push him over the edge.

Without another word, he reached out and hit her with a low growl of rage, striking her on her face with his fist and sending her tumbling backward onto the ground. She landed on the floor with a cry of surprise, and her hands flew to her face, finding that a warm stream of blood was trickling down from her nose. The area just above her cheek throbbed with deep, burning pain, and she knew she would doubtlessly have a black eye in the morning. Her vision was spinning, her mind reeling, and she could do nothing but lie there as her father loomed menacingly over her.

"Next time you drink my beer," Thénardier spat, "you'll have worse than a black eye."

With that, he stalked back over to the couch, picked up his beer, and turned the volume up on the television so much that it made the floors rumble with every cheesy laugh track that played. Her mother didn't even look at her twice, and instead continued trying to cook, ignoring her altogether. Éponine wasn't too terribly shocked or hurt by it – as he'd done worse than punch her in the face – and so she picked herself up off the floor and made her way into the bathroom, her inebriated mind barely able to comprehend what she was doing. With hands trembling from anger, she took a piece of toilet paper, wet it in the sink, and pressed it against her bloody nose, then squeezed her eyes closed as a headache began to burrow itself into her skull.

"Shit…" she swore under her breath, bringing a hand to her nose and touching it to make sure it wasn't broken.

It wasn't, but it still hurt like hell to touch it, and she hissed in pain, drawing her hand away and looking up at herself in the dirty mirror. She looked like shit, with her hair tangled and frizzy, blood dripping down from her nose, and dark bags underneath her eyes that no amount of sleep ever seemed to be able to rid her of. Éponine breathed out all at once and tasted the alcohol on her tongue, and without warning, she felt herself grow nauseous, her stomach unable to handle the copious amount of booze she'd had tonight. Suddenly dizzy, she clasped a hand over her mouth and fell on her knees beside the toilet, heaving into it and struggling to hold her hair away from her face. As she was doing so, Marius came to her mind once more, and she would've cursed him under her breath if she hadn't been retching so violently.

Fuck him, she thought. Fuck him, and his untouchable face, and his handsome smile, and his perfect, white teeth – and everything about him. She hated him more than anything.

She wanted him more than anything.

Behind her, she heard the door creak open, and shortly afterward, she felt someone kneel beside her on the grimy tiled floor and sweep her hair up into their hands. Once her stomach had settled, Éponine turned and found Azelma sitting there with a troubled look on her face.

"Shit," Éponine swore again. She was supposed to be a relatively good role model for Azelma – as the girl definitely didn't have any other candidates in her life – and getting drunk and then puking into the toilet wasn't the kind of example she wanted to set for her. Éponine shook her head, "Sorry, 'Zelm."

"'S okay," her sister replied, "Not like I haven't seen mom and dad drunk before."

Azelma handed her a damp washcloth to wipe the blood from her nose, and Éponine managed a smile for her, "Thanks."

"He hit you," she observed with a frown, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay," she sighed, then managed a dark chuckle, "Not like he hasn't done it before, right?"

"He shouldn'tve," Azelma muttered, "Hit you, I mean."

"I pissed him off," Éponine sighed, and sank back against the wall, "Drank his beers."

"It's still not right," Azelma told her. Then, she thought for a moment and said, "If you want, we can sneak vinegar into his beer bottles tomorrow."

Her older sister shook her head, "No. It's all right. I don't need two black eyes."

Azelma was quiet for a moment, and after it had passed, she moved over beside Éponine and looked up at her, "Why'd you get drunk? You only ever do it when you're, y' know… upset."

"It's Marius," Éponine rasped, bringing her knees up to her chest and letting out a hopeless sigh, "He's an asshole."

"What'd he do?"

"He's dating some blonde girl," she murmured, "Pretty, rich, smart blonde girl."

"How do you know?"

"He showed me a picture," Éponine said, "I look like… trash, compared to her."

"I'm sorry," Azelma told her honestly, "That sucks."

"Yeah. God," she groaned and pressed a hand to her pounding head, "I feel like ass."

"Here," Azelma got to her feet and helped Éponine up along with her, "Let's go to bed, 'Ponine."

Though she swayed a little on her feet, Éponine managed to stand and follow Azelma to their tiny bedroom, where she fell down onto the bed, kicked off her ratty old sneakers, and crawled under the covers with bothering to undress. Then, having settled herself, she closed her eyes and scowled, hoping that the alcohol would let her sleep soon, and that she would suffer no dreams of Marius. After a moment, however, she opened them, just in time to see Azelma reveal a large bruise on her upper arm as she removed her shirt.

She scowled, "What's that?"

"Oh, this?" Azelma looked down at it and shrugged, "Got it from some girl at school. She pushed me down on the way to my locker."

"Little bitch," Éponine sat up slightly, "What'd you do about it?"

A wicked grin replaced Azelma's usual façade of innocence, "Put ketchup in her seat before lunch one day, when she was wearing white pants. When she got back up, everyone thought she got her period."

Éponine chortled, "Thatta girl, 'Zelm."

* * *

The next day, she got fired.

She worked a shitty job at a shitty McDonald's in a shitty neighborhood, arguably the shittiest in all of Chicago. She worked cashier half of the time, and the other half involved her cleaning every damn thing in the place: the tables, always left filthy by families with half a dozen kids who never cleaned up after themselves; the toilets, which she had to try not to gag while scrubbing the shit out of; and every crack between the tiles in the floors, which took hours, and forced her to get far too close to the rest of her co-workers, most of whom smelled like weed and BO. She hated it, and they paid her minimum wage and treated her like crap, but it was the only place that would take her, as all the others had known her father's reputation and turned her away. Even Burger King.

She dealt with crappy customers on a regular basis, and sure, once or twice she'd received a warning for mouthing off to them, but otherwise she managed to be somewhat polite and slightly less sarcastic while at work, knowing she didn't have any other options for employment.

It was late afternoon, near the end of her shift, and she was on her hands and knees on the floor, sweeping up crumbs beneath one of the tables and counting the seconds until she could leave. Out of nowhere, she heard someone clear their throat behind her, and she turned to find two teenage boys standing there. Both were thin and lanky with glasses, their faces covered with acne and their teeth caged in braces, and Éponine couldn't help but scowl at the sight of them. Judging by the stupid smiles on their faces, she was almost certain they'd been looking at her ass.

However, she used the warmest, most polite voice she could manage, "Can I help you?"

The taller one snickered, then sobered up and asked, "Yeah, um, where is the bathroom?"

"Down that hallway, to the left," she answered, waiting for them to nod and walk away. When they didn't, she furrowed her brow, "Do you need something else?"

"You, uh…wanna come in there with me? For a quickie?" he winked at her, and it took all her willpower not to chew him out right there and then.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and reminded herself, _I cannot lose this job. I cannot lose this job._

"I'm at work," she answered steadily, "That is inappropriate."

_And just because I'm a projects girl and work at McDonald's doesn't mean I give out blowjobs like I give out Big Macs. _

"C'mon. Sneak away for a while," the other one gestured awkwardly to himself and smirked, "You know you want some of this."

Éponine got to her feet and clenched her jaw, "I'm not interested. Order something or leave."

"Sassy. I like 'em sassy," they chuckled; a high, nasally sound that grated on her nerves and made her bite her tongue so hard she thought she could taste blood. Éponine breathed out slowly, picked up her broom and dust pan, and began to walk back to the counter – and then, only a second later, she felt a sudden, hard smack on her ass. At once, she froze, and before she could stop it, fury took hold of her. She spun around as fast as lightning to face the two mouth-breathers with fire raging in her eyes.

"You did _not _just do that," she hissed, but the boys seemed unaware of the real threat that stood before them.

"Oh yes," one drawled, "I did."

Éponine stormed toward him and grabbed him by the collar of his ugly plaid shirt, almost lifting him up into the air, then repeated firmly, "You did _not_ just do that." His eyes widened, and she released him with a snarl, "Do you really think that's how you fucking treat a girl? Smack her ass? Fuck. You." She barred her teeth at the two sniveling boys, "Use the damn bathroom, or get the hell out-"

Quickly, her manager – a fat, balding middle-aged man named Kermit – rushed over, and got between Éponine and the boys, "All right, all right, hey. The bathroom is right down that hall, gentlemen, and once you're done in there, how about an ice cream cone on the house, okay? Okay." He ushered the two boys away from Éponine, then frowned at her and beckoned for her to follow him, "We need to talk. Now."

Éponine bit back a groan and reluctantly plodded along after the man. Once they reached his office, which was hardly anything more than a closet in the back of the restaurant, she took a seat and watched him as he sat down across from her at his desk, eyeing her with an almost palpable air of disdain.

"This is the second time this month you've mouthed off to a customer," he told her, and she scowled.

"What was the first time?"

"The woman and her six kids," he reminded her, and a look of recognition crossed her face.

However, it quickly turned to irritation, "Two of them smeared ketchup in my hair when I was cleaning their table. They threw, like, fifty french fries everywhere! What, was I supposed to not get mad?"

"Yes," Kermit kept his voice low and calm, "The customer is always right."

"Bullshit!" she snapped, forgetting in that instant with whom she was speaking, "Half of the customers here are assholes!"

"While that may be true," it was clear he was struggling to keep his cool, "You have to respect them. You can't… cuss every other one out or they'll be too scared to come here."

"Those pricks spanked me!" she raised her voice, "I was supposed to smile and tell them to have a nice day?"

"Yes."

She shot to her feet and leaned over his desk, "They were sexist pigs. That was sexual harassment!"

"Sit back down, Éponine-" he tried to stand, but she stopped him.

"No!" she pointed a finger at him, "_You_ sit back down, _Kermit_."

"Look," he raised his hands to her and breathed out slowly, "I'm going to have to fire you. I've given you too many warnings already."

"What?" she exclaimed, but her surprise quickly turned to even more anger, "You're a sexist piece of shit just like them."

"Just – leave, please-"

"No, you know what?" Éponine reached for her badge, unfastened it, and slammed it down on his desk, along with her hat, "You can't fire me. I quit!" She raised herself to her full height and narrowed her eyes, "Fuck you, and your stupid fucking Muppet name!"

With that, she turned and stalked out of the restaurant, but before it was out of view, she turned around and threw up two middle fingers to the bright yellow 'M' in the sky.

* * *

She didn't want to go home that night – not after what had happened with her dad the day before, and it was likely he was still mad – so she stole a pack of cigarettes from the nearest convenience store and smoked them outside of her building, watching in silence as the world went on around her and she remained still, unmoving, like a statue. Her black eye stood out large and dark on her face, as she'd rubbed off the concealer she'd put on to cover it at work, but in some odd way, she wanted the world to see it, to know that she could take any punch it had to throw at her. A few streets over, she could hear the wailing sound of a police siren, and not long after, a train crossed the tracks by their apartments. It sounded like an earthquake to Éponine, shaking the ground violently, but she stood still and listened impassively, longing to go inside yet, at the same time, relishing the feeling of the freezing air around her. Somehow, the cold reminded her she was still alive.

A few minutes after the train passed, she heard heavy footsteps behind her on the sidewalk, and when she turned to see who it was, she almost laughed aloud.

"Hello, Inspector," she greeted him with a cheerless grin as she released a puff of smoke into the air and watched it rise, "Fancy meeting you here."

"Officer," he corrected her sharply, as he came to stand before the building and folded his arms. He noticed her black eye, but said nothing of it at first, and instead stated dryly, "You're smoking again."

She could hear the reprimand in his tone, and she sighed, defeat and exhaustion suddenly washing over her as she leaned back against the cold brick, "Holy shit. Hadn't realized. At least I'm sober. But…don't stomp this one out, okay?" Éponine sighed, "I'll be a little strapped for cash for a while."

She gave him a look, as if expecting him to say something in response, and so he let out a breath and humored her, "Why?"

"Got fired. From McDonald's," Éponine scoffed and tapped the ashes off her cigarette, "Can't even keep a job at McDonald's."

"It's late," he observed with an air of boredom, "Go home."

"Aren't you going to ask me why I got fired?" she raised her eyebrows. He nearly rolled his eyes.

"I don't care," he told her honestly, and instead of being offended, she grinned, appreciating his candor.

"I cussed out two customers who slapped my ass," she paused to take a drag of the cigarette, "And then cussed my boss out too."

"And you were surprised they fired you," he stated, his voice a deep monotone.

Éponine smirked, but it failed to reach her eyes, "Not really."

They were quiet for a moment, and then, he spoke up all of a sudden, "Your eye." Éponine looked up at him, surprised that he'd spoken, and then lowered her eyes. He scowled, "What happened to it?"

"Like you care," she muttered as she dropped the cigarette onto the ground and crushed it with her heel, "Just another hood rat getting smacked around at home, right?"

"Your father," he said. It was not a question; he already knew the answer. She didn't reply, and he straightened his back, "It is my job to care. And it's not right."

"It doesn't matter," she folded her arms and shivered as a gust of cold air blew past, "He gets drunk and hits me when I piss him off. Nothing new. The cops don't ever bother to do anything about it." She flattened her lips into a line and dared to look him square in the eyes, "Why would you?"

"It is not right," he repeated with as much conviction as she'd ever heard in his voice, "He shouldn't be hitting you."

"No shit he shouldn't, but he does," she swallowed, and her mouth felt dry, "What, your parents never hit you?"

She was about to say something else, when she noticed that he had pulled a small pad of paper out of his pocket and begun to write something on it.

After a moment, Javert handed it to her, and Éponine gave him a look of confusion as she glanced down and found a phone number scrawled on the little scrap of paper, "W-what's this?"

"It is my phone number. Call it, if he hits you again," he told her, "Understand?"

Slowly, with her mouth slightly agape, she nodded, and after making sure she had taken it, Javert turned and was gone. Another bitterly cold wind blew through shortly afterward, and Éponine shivered, finally deciding to enter the building as well and return to her family's apartment.

Before she did so, however, she took one last, long look at the little paper, folded it up, and tucked it safely in her pocket.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

* * *

Javert's morning started the same way every day, and had done so for the past twenty years.

He rose not a minute later than 5:00 AM, and never indulged in the snooze button. He showered and dressed himself, always making sure there wasn't even a single wrinkle to be seen in his uniform. After that, he brewed himself a pot of bitter black coffee in his old coffee maker and drank it in silence as he read the newspaper. Occasionally, he would bother to turn on his huge brick of a television and watch the morning news, but he never found himself able to listen to the stupidity of others for long until he grew frustrated and switched it off. For breakfast, he ate a bowl of cereal and a banana, occasionally accompanied by a piece of toast with peanut butter on it or a few scrambled eggs, and once he was done, he left his apartment and drove to the station in his car; an old junker of a thing with a floor that was beginning to rust out and a failing muffler that made the vehicle roar as he drove it. Miserly as he was, Javert intended to drive it until it wouldn't start anymore, and judging by the strange noises it had been making recently, he expected that day might come soon.

He reached the station, and once he met up with his partner – an officer a decade his junior with short blonde hair and a grating voice, by the name of Eddie Stanford – they embarked on their morning street patrol in a squad car. It was boring and monotonous, but Javert did it without complaint and suffered through his partner's constant rambling and stupidity as best he could.

That morning in particular – the morning after he'd spoken with the girl Éponine outside their building – he took his place in the passenger seat of the car with a frown on his face, as he mulled over his encounter with her and sipped the lukewarm remains of his coffee. Usually he didn't bother to remember such things, but this was different, somehow. She was different, different from most of the other teenagers who wandered the streets on the south side, looking for trouble. She wasn't looking for trouble – at least not a lot of it – and she wasn't afraid of him. She didn't seem very concerned with the huge black eye blooming like a hideous flower on her face. She didn't even seem worried about the prospect of getting another one; she seemed to regard it with a sort of indifference. She had told him she had a job, albeit a shitty one. She seemed to have hope, ambition, when most other girls her age had already gotten pregnant and settled down, never bothering to try and find anything better than their life in the projects.

Yes, he thought with a scowl as he took a swallow of the coffee in his hand. She was different.

She reminded him of himself.

Javert shook the thought away and settled himself down into the seat as he ground his teeth together. He had given her his number in the event that her father beat her again – an event he knew would be inevitable – but somehow, he knew she wouldn't call. She was too proud to call. Stupidly proud, like he had once been.

He noticed his partner approaching the car, then, and he tossed aside the pointless reverie as the man opened the door and took his seat behind the wheel.

"Morning," the man greeted. Javert said nothing, but that didn't bother his partner much. By now, he was used to it. Still, Eddie murmured, "At least bother to say hello." Still, Javert did nothing but look at him, and he sighed, starting the engine and reaching for a donut, then offering it to Javert, "Want one? It's got sprinkles." There was no response – not even a nod of Javert's head – and the younger man grinned, "What, you on a diet or something?"

"I'm not hungry," Javert spoke up finally as he reached out and switched on the police radio, much preferring to listen to the endless drone of other officers' voices as they reported crimes to their colleagues instead of his partner's nasally blabbering.

Stanford only rolled his eyes and put the car into gear, pulling out of the station's parking lot and into the streets. For a while they drove in silence, until Stanford decided to try and make conversation once more.

"You know what I was thinking the other day?" Javert spared him a glance out of the corner of his eye and scowled, but he continued, "You should try one of those online dating websites. We need to get you a woman."

"No," he deadpanned, not bothering to consider the idea for even a minute.

"They have ones for Christian singles, if that's what you want. My buddy tried one and met his wife on it. It's worth a shot for you." Stanford looked over and observed the look of disgust on Javert's face, "Don't look at me like that. You can't stay single forever. I heard Mike wondering yesterday if you bat for the other team."

"Mind your own business, Stanford," he growled, "And I don't _bat_ for the other team."

"Yeah, I figured. That stick up your ass kind of prevents anything else from getting in there, huh?" he chortled, and the frigid glare he received from Javert made the grin fall from his lips, "What? It was a joke."

"Do us both a favor," Javert said, his voice terrifyingly calm, "And shut up."

"Lighten up! God, you're always so serious. Smile. Crack a damn joke once in a while!"

Javert clenched his jaw, "Joking is a distraction. And so are women on internet dating sites."

"Man, when _was _the last time you got any-"

"Be quiet."

"Months? Years? Deca-"

"Stop talking, Stanford," he raised his voice and successfully silenced the man, who shrugged and looked back to the road. Javert took a breath to calm his temper and pulled his old flip phone from his back pocket to check the time, as the clock in the cruiser was at least ten minutes fast, and Stanford had never bothered to try and fix it. His partner noticed, and smirked.

"Can't believe you still have that archaic piece of crap. Its 2014, you know. Get the iPhone."

He didn't even bother to look up at him, "Keep your eyes on the road or you'll kill us both."

The rest of the day passed in a similar manner for the two of them. Just as late afternoon was beginning, they were called to a convenience store to stop a robbery that was in progress. After that, they broke up a fight between two drunks in the street. Then, they prevented an attempted mugging and dragged the perp into the station at four o' clock. It was all humdrum stuff for Javert, and by the time his shift was ending and they were driving back to the station, he found himself inexplicably bored. Being that he was a rather boring person himself, he rarely tired of his job, and he could find no explanation for his sudden restlessness.

The sun was disappearing behind the city's skyscrapers as they drove back in silence, listening idly to the voices on the radio as they called in crimes, and Javert was pondering to himself what on earth encouraged people to do the stupid things they did. Then, without warning, a deep, crackly voice came over the speaker and caught Javert's attention.

"Robbery in progress…multiple suspects…51st Street…"

"51st," Stanford observed, and Javert was surprised he'd actually been listening, "That's two streets over."

Javert only nodded, and his partner promptly turned the car around in the direction of the address given. They arrived within minutes but kept their sirens off, lest they startle the suspects, and exited the car as quickly as they could. There didn't appear to be any other officers on the scene, and so they approached the address cautiously, finding it to be an old, rundown two story house that looked very unlikely to contain anything worth stealing. But criminals were stupid, Javert thought with a scowl, and some would rob any place or any person without a second thought.

Like Éponine and the boy Montparnasse, who would've gotten nothing more than his ancient television and half-broken microwave if they'd succeeded in robbing him.

He threw them from his mind with a frown and reached for his gun, keeping one hand on it at all times should he find himself in need of it. Cloaked by the night, they slunk around the side of the house, their footsteps crunching quietly on the snow, and kept their heads low, their vigilant eyes sweeping about and taking in the scene around them.

When Javert reached the back of the house, however, he found someone standing there; a short, brown-haired someone who was much too familiar to Javert for his liking.

It was Éponine.

She was standing a few feet away from the back door, hugging her arms to her body and shivering violently. She was dressed in a thin, black winter coat and the same torn jeans she always seemed to wear, and she was glancing around nervously, biting her lip. It took him only a second to realize that she was involved in the burglary, and he scowled.

"You," he spat, as the stormed up to where she stood and hovered over her, "What are you doing here?"

"Shit-" she began to dart in the other direction, but Javert reached out and caught her arm with ease. Upon feeling his cold, unrelenting grip on her, Éponine froze and turned to him slowly, dread filling the pit of her stomach.

"I thought you weren't an idiot," he told her with a scowl, "I guess I was wrong."

He began to reach for his handcuffs, but she stopped him with a hiss, "You think I wanted to get mixed up in this? I don't need two black eyes, man!" He stopped what he was doing, and she licked her dry lips, "I-I'm only keeping watch. Just pretend you never saw me."

"Keeping watch," he repeated, and a realization dawned on him, "Your father made you do this."

She nodded, her breaths coming quickly, "They're in there ransacking the place. _I'm _not a part of it. Just let me go."

For a moment, she was a rare display of hesitation in Javert, but as soon as it was there, it was gone, and he reached for his handcuffs again, "I can't do that. You're an accomplice, just as guilty as them."

She scoffed, "Fuck that! Says who?"

"The law."

They heard a crash from inside, and Éponine looked toward the sound nervously, "Look, if they know I've been talking to you I'll get worse than a black eye. Just let me go. Forget I was here."

She was asking him to break the law, plain and simple; something that seemed impossible and completely ridiculous to Javert. True, she was not a willing criminal, but she was a criminal all the same, and after she'd broken into his apartment, he was beginning to think that some time in juvie might do her a bit of good. But when another crash sounded out from just beyond the back door, he found himself reconsidering. Sure, juvie might set her straight, but it was serious time her father and his accomplices needed, and if he took the time to drag her in now, they'd almost certainly take advantage of the distraction and run. She'd serve time in juvie after being forced into a crime against her will and they'd run free, doing whatever they pleased. It was one girl for half a dozen dangerous men.

It only made sense to him, and he hated it for making sense.

Javert clenched his jaw and reluctantly released his grip on the handcuffs in his pocket. Éponine furrowed her brow in confusion, and her jaw nearly dropped in disbelief when he growled, "If I were you, I would get out of here." For a moment she stood there, paralyzed by shock, and he moved closer to her with a scowl, "Go._ Now_."

He was so close to her that Éponine could feel his breath on her cheek, and she watched as it turned to fog in the cold air and floated towards her. She could smell the faint scent of mint on him, and in that instant she stood transfixed, staring into his cold eyes and taking in the sight of him with a mixture of terror and fascination. His jawline was sharp and masculine, his face patterned with faint lines, and although he scared her, she dared to meet his eyes, then. A shiver went up her back, and she could not say if it was because of him or because of the bitterly cold wind.

Then, without so much as a smile or a word of thanks, Éponine began to back away, and after she was a safe distance from Javert and knew he couldn't reach her, she took off running, vanishing around the corner and into the darkness within seconds.

Javert watched her go with a frown and turned around to locate his partner. Stanford had been peering into the windows around the side of the house rather uselessly, and Javert hurried up to him with a huff, "Come on. We're going in."

"What happened to that girl?" his partner asked, and Javert shook his head.

"She ran," he muttered, and Stanford accepted it without question.

Javert drew his gun, crept around to the back door again, and pushed it open as quietly as he could manage. He could hear faint rustling the next room over, and he looked back at Stanford, motioning for him to follow as they stalked into the small, dusty home. Quickly, he reached the room containing the suspects and stepped inside without a hint of fear or trepidation, holding his gun with a steady hand and watching as the five men looked up in surprise. Around them, drawers were opened, lamps lay shattered on the ground, chairs had been thrown about carelessly, and Javert scowled again at the sight. Stanford joined him in the room hastily, and the men seemed to realize the gravity of the situation when he did.

"Hands where I can see them," Javert barked. When they didn't comply, he raised his voice, "Now!"

Without warning, the men scattered, desperate to escape arrest in any way possible. One of them – the boy called Montparnasse who had broken into Javert's apartment – tried to jump out the window, but Javert reached out and dragged him back in with a growl, forcing him up against the wall and locking his wrists in handcuffs.

"Get off of me, you son of a bitch!" Montparnasse spat and thrashed about, but Javert's grip on him was steely and unbreakable.

"You're coming with me," Javert growled as he yanked him roughly away from the wall. He turned around to find that Stanford had managed to detain one of them as well, and the scrawny rat of a man he'd handcuffed was breathing heavily and cursing under his breath. Upon looking around, Javert discovered that Éponine's father and the rest had managed to escape, and he felt a surge of unexplained fury rush through him. He would've liked to put the bastard in handcuffs as well, but he supposed he would have to settle for the idiot Montparnasse for now.

Without another word, Javert and his partner dragged the two criminals back to their squad car and drove them to the station. His shift had been over half an hour ago, but he intended to stay and see the two properly booked before he went home for the day. Booking was tedious and usually took longer than it needed to, but he stayed through the entire process, and it was nearly midnight by the time he got back to his building. His eyelids were drooping and his limbs were heavy with fatigue, but when he plodded up the stairs to his floor and reached the top, he found himself stopped in his tracks.

Éponine was there at the top, leaning against a nearby wall with her arms folded and her head bowed. When she heard his footsteps on the creaky stairs, she looked up, but quickly lowered her eyes and gulped. He couldn't see her well in the dimly lit hallway, but he could see well enough to notice that she looked just as tired as he was.

Barely able to stand as he was, Javert stopped in front of her only long enough to say, "Go home. It's late."

She straightened her back, "You get him? My dad?"

Angered by his failure to do so, Javert frowned, "No."

"Oh," she muttered, and he thought for a moment that she looked afraid of the idea of facing him tomorrow. But the expression of fear was there and gone from her face in an instant, and she flattened her lips into a grave line, "Thanks."

"What?"

Éponine chewed on her bottom lip, "For what you did."

He almost could not bear thinking of what he'd done – how he'd let her go, broken the law – and Javert barred his teeth at her, "I should still arrest you. Get out of here before I change my mind."

With that, Javert turned toward his door and reached into his pocket for his keys. After unlocking it, he pushed the heavy thing open and began to step inside, but was stopped when her voice sounded out behind him again.

"I'm not gonna call," was all she said, her voice soft and hoarse as it met his ears.

Javert turned around to look at her slowly, knowing in an instant what she was talking about. He paused for a long moment, released a breath into the darkness, and then finally rasped in return, "I know."

Without another word to her, he entered his tiny, drab apartment and closed the door behind him, locking it and making his way sleepily into the bedroom. Though his vision was blurred by exhaustion, he managed to remove his uniform and hang it in his closet, then throw on a shirt and sweatpants to sleep in. His stomach was aching for food, but he was far too tired to oblige it, and so he walked over to his nightstand, set his alarm for 5:00 AM the next morning, and lay down, his heavy head hitting the pillow with an audible _thump_.

The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets there cold and unwelcoming – just as they had been every day for twenty years.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

* * *

Her father beat her up the next day.

He didn't give her a black eye like last time; he just kicked her a few times in the gut and bloodied her lip, and Éponine figured that she came out with relatively minor injuries, considering how angry he was. Two of his gang had been taken in, and he'd blamed her for running off and failing to warn them of the police – which, she had to admit, _was_ exactly what had happened. Like he always did, Thénardier got drunk and knocked her around, but it didn't really bother her much. She was used to it by now, and after he was done with her, she stumbled into her bedroom and cleaned her bloody lip, hoping that it didn't swell up too much overnight.

Once she was done, she pulled out the old family flip phone and the piece of paper with Javert's number on it, for reasons even she herself could not understand. For what seemed like an hour, she sat there in contemplation, looking at the bright, glowing LED screen with empty eyes and a frown on her face. She ran one finger across the little paper, feeling the tiny ridges where Javert's pen had pressed into it, and once, she even went as far as to punch the first number into her phone, but she was quick to flip it shut and sigh. She thought of calling; she really did, but what would she say? Nothing. There was nothing _to _say.

She wouldn't do it, Éponine decided after a long moment as she sighed and fell back onto her pillow. She wouldn't call. There was no point, and she'd always been fine without running to anybody before.

Just then, the door to her bedroom opened, and Azelma stepped inside with a noticeably ponderous look on her face. Éponine noticed but didn't comment on it, and she managed to muster up a half-hearted grin for her, "Hey."

"Saw you talking to Javert," her sister blurted out all of a sudden as she came to sit on her bed, just across from where Éponine lay. Her older sister sat up with a sigh and ran a hand through her hair.

"Yeah. I was. So?" she shook her head, though she knew perfectly well why Azelma was so shocked by the idea. She, like Éponine, had been raised to think that the man was pure evil, and clearly still believed that to be true.

"He's…_Javert_. W-what did he want?"

"Saw my black eye. Like he'd really do anything about dad, though. The cops never do." Éponine licked her lips and exhaled slowly, "He gave me his number to call, the next time he hit me."

Azelma folded her arms, "You gonna call?"

"No," Éponine chuckled and shook her head, "There's no point."

"It's kinda weird."

"What?"

"That he was…nice to you."

Éponine folded her arms, "Yeah. I know."

They were silent for a moment, and then, Azelma piped up again, "'Parnasse got out on bail, you know."

"He did?"

"Yeah. Dad got him out today."

Éponine shook her head, "With what money?"

"Dunno. But he said he'd be by to talk to you."

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. Dealing with Montparnasse was the last thing she wanted to do today, but she knew he wouldn't let her avoid him – not after she'd run off and left him to get taken in. It wasn't any different than what he'd done to her when they'd broken into Javert's apartment, but even still, she knew he wouldn't be happy. As if on cue, there was a sudden knock on their door, and Éponine closed her eyes with a sigh, "_Fuck_." Quickly, she got to her feet and shooed Azelma out the door, "Get out of here, 'Zelm."

"You gonna be okay?" her sister asked with a frown. Éponine nodded.

"Don't worry about me," she reassured her, though she wasn't entirely sure what kind of mood 'Parnasse would be in today; if he'd been in good spirits or ready to give her another pounding.

Azelma stood and walked over to the door, opening it and stepping past Montparnasse, who was waiting there with his hands in his pockets and a wicked smirk on his face. For a moment, Éponine only looked at him, and she felt her cheeks flush beyond her control when she did. His uncut hair was disheveled from his night in jail, lying thick and black on his head and tumbling just past his ears. His eyes were dark and narrowed, taking her in from head to toe, and before she could stop herself, she squirmed beneath his gaze. He was an asshole, she thought. An asshole and a criminal and kind of a sadist. But he was hotter than hell, and for a moment, she forgot she was supposed to be mad at him.

"So, we're even now," his voice was low and calm and didn't sound angry at all, much to Éponine's surprise. Montparnasse walked in and closed the door behind him, then grinned at her, "I fucked you over, you fucked me over."

"Why didn't the cops keep you longer?" she put her hands on her hips and demanded. He shrugged.

"Must've been my good looks."

Éponine rolled her eyes and stalked over to the window, turning her back to him, "Look, if you're not here to kick the shit out of me, what do you want?"

"To finish what we started," he chuckled, and the sound made her shiver, for she knew very well what he meant. Quickly, he stalked over to her and laid his rough, calloused hands on her hips. She could feel him lower his lips and place them on her neck, and she found herself leaning back against him instinctively. Éponine could feel a gentle, insistent pulsing between her legs, and she fought to ignore it as he brought one of his hands to her sweatpants and began to dip it inside.

"Stop it," she hissed, and when he didn't listen, she repeated, "_S-stop_…"

His fingers reached the area between her legs, and he groaned as he traced them around her dampened sex, "_Fuck_, 'Ponine…" Before she could stifle it, a soft moan escaped her, and he smirked, "I can see you missed me."

"Screw you," she breathed, but Montparnasse ignored her, and all at once, he turned her around and took her into his arms, curling her thin legs around him and tossing her down on the bed. With quick, masterful movements, he removed his shirt and stripped her of her sweatpants, the clothing disappearing from their bodies and coming to lie in a messy heap on the floor.

After a minute, Éponine noticed him begin to unzip his jeans, and she caught her breath long enough to say, "Got a condom?"

"Cops confiscated 'em at county. But we don't need any."

Having tossed aside his pants, he began to climb back on top of her, but she pushed him off, "_We don't need any_? I'm not on the pill, you know that-"

"Just relax. Don't worry about it," he purred, and his voice was so smooth and velvety that she was tempted not to, for a moment.

Éponine snapped out of it quickly and grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head up so he was forced to look her in the eyes. Once he was, she sneered, "I'm not squeezing out your bastard kid." He began to kiss her neck again, in the hopes he could entice her to forget about protection altogether, but she had enough sense to kick him off her and growl, "Cut it out!"

"Jesus." He frowned but complied, and got to his feet, "Have some fun for once. So what if you get knocked up? We'd have good-looking kids."

Éponine looked at him with a combination of disgust and shock on her face, and she scoffed in disbelief as a realization dawned on her, "What, was that your plan all along? Knock me up and leave me at home with a kid while your dumb ass is out screwing other girls and getting arrested? _No_!" She shot to her feet and gave him a powerful shove backwards, "That's not the kind of _fucking_ life I want."

"What's the big deal? Happens to every other girl around here," he laughed dismissively, and when he saw her glower at that, he held his arms up as if in surrender, "I never said we wouldn't get hitched. Why don't we?" To Éponine, the answer to that was simple, and she lowered her eyes. He seemed to realize what she was thinking, and snarled, "What, because of that piece of shit Marius? You really think he'll ever pay any attention to you? He's off banging co-eds and forgetting you exist. We're the same, 'Ponine." He moved closer to her, and she clenched her jaw as he reached out and caressed her cheek, "Stop chasing after that scrawny SOB and get back in bed."

Éponine made a guttural sound of revulsion and slapped him as hard as she could, then grabbed her pants off of the ground and slid them back on with all haste. Then, just before leaving the room, she turned and glared at him, "Get fucked, 'Parnasse."

With that, Éponine stormed outside, ignoring him when he called back, "That's what I was trying to do!"

* * *

She wandered the streets for a few hours after that, and as she did, she couldn't help but hear Montparnasse's words over and over in her mind. They echoed within the confines of her skull, replaying themselves without relent, and no matter how hard she fought to forget them, she couldn't. He hadn't been lying; that was the worst part. Everything he'd said was true, and it almost made her feel like crying. But she hated crying, and so she swallowed her sorrow and sucked in a deep breath of the cold air around her to calm down. Though the cold had once made her feel alive, now, it made only her feel more numb, but she walked along even so in a sort of daze, as if unaware of everything that was happening around her. Aloof as she was, she failed to see the police cruiser drive by, double back, pull over to the curb, and then finally stop. She didn't hear the slamming of the car door in the distance, and she only noticed the signs of someone's approach when she detected heavy footsteps plodding along on the cracked sidewalk behind her. She knew it wasn't uncommon to get jumped on this side of town, and so she quickened her pace for a while. When she found she was unable to escape her assailant, however, she took a deep breath and rounded on them all at once, ready to kick them in the balls and make a break for it.

When her eyes met familiar ice-grey ones, however, she let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and snapped, "Jesus _Christ_! Are you stalking me or something?" Javert, clad in his police uniform as always, did not answer, and she released a furious breath, "What do you want, huh? Just leave me alone."

She turned and began to storm away, but he stopped her by rasping, "You shouldn't be out by yourself this time of night."

"You think I don't know that?" she hissed, "God, I almost kicked you in the nuts." He gave her a strange look and narrowed his eyes, and she ground her teeth together when she noticed, "Stop_ doing_ that."

"Doing what?" he asked patiently, as he could clearly see how distraught she seemed. Éponine growled.

"Looking at me like I'm fucking stupid! Like I'm just… white trash from the projects! I-I'm not smart, but I'm not stupid. And you know something?" All her bottled up rage and fury at Montparnasse was bubbling to the surface, and she couldn't stop it, no matter how hard she tried. Éponine pointed an accusing finger at him and raised herself to her full height, "I am sure as _shit _not stupid enough to go and get myself knocked up at seventeen, okay? I'm_ not_!"

Javert let her speak and didn't interrupt, and he listened as her voice grew quieter and broke on the last few words she spoke. Once she was done, she fell into silence, breathing heavily and struggling to hold back her tears. She didn't want to cry – not now. She would rather cry in front of literally anyone else in the world than Javert.

After he was certain she was finished, he clasped his hands behind his back, "I never said you were."

Éponine let out a shaky breath and bit her lip. Once she was sure her voice would be steady, she dared to speak again, "What do you want anyway? I'm not doing anything illegal. Just…leave me alone."

"You're far from home," he told her, his voice deep, emotionless, "I'll drive you back."

Éponine scowled and turned around, stalking down the street in the opposite direction, "No. I'll walk."

"It's fifteen blocks away."

"I _told_ you," she said through clenched teeth, looking back at him briefly as the wind whipped her hair around wildly, "I'll walk."

Javert scowled, deep, fearsome lines forming around his mouth, "You'll get jumped."

At last, she turned fully to look back at him and threw her hands up as she continued to back away, "What're they gonna steal?"

Javert knew she made a valid point, and he folded his arms, shuddering in the cold and wondering why he'd even bothered pulling over to speak with her in the first place. He raised his voice as she grew farther and farther away, "You said you're not stupid."

This made her stop again, but she didn't turn around and instead only shouted into the wind, "I'm not."

"You're being stupid now," he deadpanned.

For one last time, she paused, considered his words, pictured her fingers falling off because of frostbite, decided she would prefer to keep her extremities, and then finally spun around with a huff and stormed back to Javert, who stood beside his squad car, holding the door open for her and eyeing Éponine with his ever-present scowl. For a moment, she stopped in front of him, gave him a scowl similar to his own, and narrowed her eyes, as if to show him just how much she _didn't_ want his help. He did nothing in response, and after she'd stepped into the passenger side, he closed the door behind her, then walked over and took his seat behind the wheel.

"Never been in the front of a cop car," she muttered as she folded her arms and threw her legs up on the dash.

He didn't miss the underlying meaning in her words, "But you've been_ in_ a cop car."

"Many times," she chirped, and he glanced over at her feet with disdain.

"Feet down," he ordered as he started the car and strapped himself in. Upon noticing that she'd not put on her seatbelt, he uttered, "And put your seatbelt on."

Éponine rolled her eyes but obeyed without a word, and after she'd strapped herself into place, he locked the doors and pulled away from the curb. That was all they said for a while, until they found themselves stopped at a red light. Since he couldn't stand the stale air of the car, Javert had opened the driver's side window a little, but not enough to let in the frigid winter air. As they waited, Javert noticed an old, bearded homeless man take notice of him and begin to stumble over to the car. Éponine recognized him but made no mention of it to Javert, and once the man was standing beside Javert's window, he began shouting, his speech slurred and almost unintelligible.

"Hey, you there!" the man rasped, "Listen to me now! You think you're all high and mighty and righteous? Don't you understand the vile, _corrupt_ government you serve? Oh, you're just a government drone – but let me tell you something! Those bastards have got mind control chips implanted in each and every one of us! They're tracking our movements wherever we go! They call this the land of the free, but we're all slaves. Slaves, dammit-"

Javert did nothing in reply but roll his window up, and once he did so, the man's words grew muffled and inaudible to them. Shortly afterward, the light blinked green once more, and Javert drove on without so much as a look back at him.

After a long moment of quiet, Éponine looked over at Javert, "That kind of thing happen to you a lot?"

"He's crazy. No point in listening to him."

"You _are_ a government drone, though," she muttered, "Probably as close to a real robot as they'll ever get." Éponine paused, and then told him, "But you don't know his story. What if he's right, and we're all being brainwashed?"

"He's an idiot," Javert grumbled.

At that, she frowned, "I know him."

Javert glanced sideways at her for a second, but hastily returned his eyes to the road. Éponine sighed, "I used to stop by after work once a week and bring him a burger, since I saw him all the time on the street. He asked me to sit down once, told me about himself." Éponine slouched down in the seat as she spoke, "He fought in Vietnam, and when he got back and everyone was a dick to him, he went kinda crazy…but y'know, not the kind of crazy that pills don't get rid of. But then his wife got into a car accident and died, and his son got shot in Iraq, and he got fired and started drinking and went off his meds. Yeah, he's a little nuts," she shrugged, "But the government's fucked him over his whole life. He's mad." She could detect a faint hint of surprise about Javert as she explained this to him, and Éponine shook her head, "You really don't know anything about this place, do you?"

"I've lived here for twenty years."

"But you don't _know_," she reiterated, then sighed and folded her arms, "Whatever. Never mind."

With that, she put her feet up once more, and he scowled, "Feet down." When she made no move to do so and instead only looked back at him, he hissed, "Now."

Finally, she obliged and huffed, "You're a real asshole, you know that?"

"Yes," he stated blandly, "I do."

"What's your story anyway, Inspector?" she addressed him mockingly, using the nickname she knew he hated. Still, Javert did not move his eyes off of the road.

"I don't have a story."

"You have to."

"Not an interesting one," he muttered, turning the wheel and finding himself stuck at yet another red light. He exhaled sharply in frustration, and Éponine chewed her bottom lip.

Upon noticing that they were approaching their building, she sat up and told him, "Just let me out here. If my dad sees me getting out of a cop car, I'll be in deep shit."

With a nod of understanding, Javert obeyed, pulling over to the side of the street and putting the car into park. Then, he told her, "Get home. It's a school night."

Éponine almost snickered; that was something she hadn't heard in years. She pulled her seatbelt off and turned to look at him, "You really think someone like me still goes to school?"

"You're a dropout," he observed, and she nodded with a smirk, "Why?"

Her smirk wavered and disappeared, giving way to a somber frown, "My parents were doing a shit ton of coke that year. Somebody had to take care of my brother and sister." With that, she reached over, opened the door, and stepped out, but looked back inside before closing it and gave him a rather joyless grin, "Thanks for the ride."

Éponine turned and stalked away then, cramming her hands into the pockets of her jeans as she strolled down the sidewalk toward home. After a minute, she heard Javert pull away from the curb and back out into the street, and she looked sideways just in time to see him drive by. With a frown, she watched the cruiser go, and once it had turned the corner and disappeared, she flattened her lips into a thoughtful line and ducked inside her building once more.


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

* * *

Éponine shivered as she stood outside in the biting winter air, leaning against the base of a statue of some important, ancient fat guy and waiting for Marius's class nearby to end so she could speak with him again. It'd been weeks since he'd told her about Cosette, and her anger had calmed somewhat – and now, instead of getting drunk and doing nothing about it, she was going to win him back.

Well, he hadn't ever really been hers in the first place. But that was beside the point.

After she'd been standing there for ten minutes, shivering in her thin, black winter coat, she heard his voice sound out behind her, and she frowned when she heard what sounded like another girl talking to him. Quickly, she spun around to face him and found, to her horror, the girl named Cosette strolling along at his side, with his arm draped over her shoulder and a pretty smile on her pretty face that exposed all of her pretty white teeth. Her determination wavering, Éponine gulped, considered making a break for it and getting out of here, but then took a breath and decided to tough it out. With her chin held high, she clenched her jaw and sauntered towards Marius, who took notice of her with a grin and waved.

"Hey, 'Ponine! Over here!" She gave him a half-hearted smile in return and walked up to them, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans as she did so. Once she had reached them, Marius gestured to the girl at his side with a wide grin that looked like it was going to break his face, "'Ponine, I'd like you to meet Cosette. Cosette, this is my friend, Éponine."

"Éponine – that's such a pretty name! Marius has told me so much about you," she said as she extended her hand for Éponine to shake. Her voice was soft and lilting, almost musical.

As she shook her hand with the politest smile she could manage, Éponine once again looked at the girl before her, and she found herself unable to look away. Her hair was the color of honey and shone brightly in the sun, making it appear almost as if she had a halo around her. She wore a stylish gray coat with a red scarf looped around her neck, and her jeans were entirely without rips and looked designer. Her eyes were a deep and entrancing blue, her features soft and her build slight, and Éponine felt like a stray dog next to her. She could see in an instant why Marius liked her so much; hell, if she swung the other way, she'd probably go for Cosette too.

"Yeah," she muttered after a moment, "Nice to meet you."

"We were just about to go and grab coffee. Want to come?" Marius asked. Éponine was suddenly aware of the fact that she had become what she'd always hated: a third wheel. A heavy feeling somewhere in between nausea and dread settled into her stomach.

She folded her arms, "I wouldn't want to interrupt anything."

"You wouldn't! Don't worry," Cosette looped her arm through hers with a smile, and Éponine found herself a little taken aback by her friendliness. They began to walk across the campus green toward the nearest coffee shop, and Cosette looked her way again, "So what's your major?"

Éponine froze, and had to think for a moment to remember what she'd told Marius, "Oh, English. I want to be a teacher. What about you?"

"Child psychology. The mind is so fascinating, you know?" Though she didn't really _know_, Éponine nodded anyway, and Cosette fixed her attention on Marius next, "So how long have you guys known each other?"

"A year," Éponine told her, "He ran into me at a café. Literally."

"Me too! At the library!" Cosette chirped.

Marius threw an arm around Cosette and chuckled, "I guess being awkward isn't so bad after all."

Éponine joined in their laughter, but her laughs were forced, insincere, and in all honestly, she found herself a little sickened by the way they looked at each other, by the way they would lean into one another from time to time and touch their noses. It was all so disgustingly cute that she felt like she would vomit, and after they'd walked for a while, she decided she couldn't take it anymore.

She hated seeing him with Cosette like this, and if she had to watch them give each other anymore_ fucking_ Eskimo kisses, she was sure she'd barf all over their shoes.

"I, uh, gotta go," she said abruptly, endeavoring to give no outward hint of her irritation, "I have a Calculus test tomorrow."

"Oh, okay," Cosette pouted, and in that instant, Éponine hoped that her apparent disappointment was feigned, just so she would have a real reason to hate her, "We'll have to have coffee some other time. A girl's day out."

Having a girl's day out with Cosette would be less enjoyable than having a girl's day out with Javert, she thought briefly, but she nodded nonetheless, smiled again, and then walked off as quickly as she could, the fake smile dropping from her lips as soon as they were out of sight. She wasn't really sad; no, she'd passed the point of sadness long ago. If anything, she was pissed off at herself, for lying to Marius and being too much of a wuss to tell him how she really felt. With a heavy heart, she boarded the L and rode it back to the South Side in silence. She didn't belong there with all those rich college students anyway, she reminded herself as she looked out the window and watched the world rush by. Girls from the South Side didn't mingle with guys from the good side of town unless they were hookers. She'd never go to college like Cosette; of that she was painfully aware. She hadn't had amazing grades, but she'd had a 2.9 GPA and would've gotten a shot at a community college if she hadn't dropped out. But what could've been didn't matter now.

Fuck it, she told herself with a deep scowl as she listened to the train rumble noisily along the tracks. Fuck it all, and fuck college – and most of all, fuck Marius.

_Fuck Marius._ She'd really like to fuck Marius, and when Éponine noticed her thoughts drifting in that direction, she shook them away and closed her eyes with a sigh. So many times she'd managed to convince herself that she had a chance with him – a _real_ chance – yet deep down, perhaps she had always known the truth.

She'd never have him. Girls from the bad side of town like her never got nice boys like Marius; they got knocked up at seventeen by some other asshole, married too young, and ended up miserable – just like Montparnasse had said.

* * *

Two days later, it was her eighteenth birthday.

She would've forgotten her own birthday had Azelma not stopped her in the kitchen before school and handed her a huge chocolate cupcake with a sickening mound of bright pink icing on top of it, adorned with a bit of confetti and a single candle. As soon as her sister pressed it into her hands, Éponine furrowed her brow and looked at her strangely, immediately suspicious.

"What did you do to this?" she asked. Azelma laughed.

"Nothing! It's your birthday, remember?" Éponine showed no sign of remembering, and Azelma began to speak to her slowly, as if she was stupid, "February 9th?"

"Shit, yeah," she breathed, "I forgot. Thanks." Éponine mustered up a smile to send her way, then asked, "Where did you get this?"

"I took it out of some fat lady's shopping bag when she was putting stuff into her trunk. She tried to chase me, but I was too fast," Azelma told her proudly, and her older sister ruffled her hair affectionately.

Éponine laughed, "Thanks, 'Zelm."

"Mom said they're having a party for you tonight."

She scoffed in disbelief, "Why would they do that?"

"Dunno. But they'll take any opportunity they can get to get drunk."

"True," Éponine sighed, walking over to the fridge and grabbing a Coke. For the rest of the afternoon, she went to her room and flipped idly through her old papers from high school, looking at the math problems and essays and wondering what she was missing, now, and if she would ever be able to catch up, if somehow she were able to go back tomorrow. Her state of contemplation was interrupted, however, when she heard loud music begin to play in the living room.

With a sigh, she got to her feet and went out to investigate, only to find that her mom and dad had brought home three bags of chips and two six packs for the evening and placed them on the tiny kitchen table. They'd also gotten her a cookie cake that she suspected was long past its expiration date, but that didn't matter to her much. In all honesty, she was surprised. They hadn't thrown her a real birthday party since she was a kid, and even then, they'd been half-assed, with no presents and beer as the only beverage option.

"Ah, there's my girl!" Mr. Thénardier sauntered over to her. Already, she could smell the pungent alcohol on his breath, "Eighteen today! Can't believe it!"

"Seems like just yesterday I was watching you get on the kindergarten bus!" her mother gushed, and Éponine almost rolled her eyes.

She could remember her first day of kindergarten; they'd been too hungover to do anything but push her out the door to catch the bus alone. However, for once, Éponine held her tongue.

Her dad opened a beer and took a giant gulp of it, then made a sound of satisfaction and shouted, "Drink! Celebrate! The hell's the matter with you?"

He had just seemed to notice the wary look on her face, and she narrowed her eyes, "Why are you doing all this?"

"Is it so hard to believe we want to celebrate for you?" Mrs. Thénardier asked as she took a swig of beer as well and clapped her on the back, "We're proud of you, 'Ponine!"

Though she was still a bit cautious, she shrugged and accepted a beer from her mother a minute later. Montparnasse and the rest of her father's regular cronies arrived fifteen minutes after that, and with them came half a dozen little bags of not-so-legal white powder and suspicious-looking pills, which her parents descended on like vultures. Surprisingly, Éponine found herself actually having a somewhat good time, and though her parents and their friends were assholes to her most of the time, she would admit that they knew how to throw a hell of a good party.

After an hour had passed, Mrs. Thénardier stumbled over to where her daughter was sitting on the couch and handed her a little box that looked like it'd been wrapped by a five year old on acid, "Happy birthday, 'Ponine."

"O…kay," Éponine gave her an odd look but tore off the paper anyway, then opened it to find a small pack of yellow and white pills inside. She furrowed her brow, "Wow. Birth control pills. Thanks, mom."

_Just what every girl dreams of getting for her eighteenth birthday._

"I am giving you the gift of _protection_, honey," her mother slurred and patted her on the knee, "Nothing more valuable than that. The free clinic'll give you more, when you need them."

Her mother gave her a knowing look, and Éponine frowned, "You know?"

"Hell yes I know! I've been seeing the way 'Parnasse looks at you – and you know something? You guys will get married one day. I can tell. But before that, take those. We don't need a goddamn kid running around here."

With that, her mom got up to seek out the nearest line of coke, and Montparnasse, clad in a plain black shirt and jeans as torn up and ratty as hers, took her place on the sofa and held out a few pills of what she was almost sure was ecstasy. Éponine shook her head without a word, and he looked down at the opened box with the birth control pills inside, then smirked and moved closer to her.

"Wanna go to your room?" he raised his eyebrows, "I could give you a present there."

"No," Éponine muttered as she tipped back a half-empty, lukewarm beer and swallowed it with a grimace, "Not in the mood, 'Parnasse."

"You never are, now that you're running after that asshole Marius."

Éponine smirked, "I bet he's better in bed than you."

Montparnasse chuckled and leaned back against the couch, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, "Eighteen, huh? Shit, 'Ponine. If we did it now I'd be underage." He blew a puff of smoke into the air and looked over at her, "Always liked older girls."

"Yeah. I can finally legally buy the cigarettes I've been smoking for years," she quipped. He grinned and eyed her through his mop of dark, scruffy hair.

"Overheard you and your mom," he spoke up suddenly, and Éponine's head snapped in his direction. He offered her a puff of his cigarette, but she waved him away, and he sighed, "We could get married, you know. You always end up coming back to me."

"'Cause I don't have anywhere better to go."

Montparnasse shook his head and got to his feet, "Fair enough. Whatever. If you change your mind, you know where I'll be."

Éponine watched him walk off in silence, and once he was gone, she closed her eyes, feeling the obnoxious bass of the stereo vibrating her bones inside her and sitting there motionlessly as it numbed her mind. She sloshed her beer around in its bottle and stared at it in contemplation before taking another drink, picking at the tattered seams of her old grey t-shirt as she did so. She wasn't even really enjoying the beer if she was being honest with herself, but she wanted to forget the day's events and getting drunk seemed to her to be the only feasible solution, as she didn't trust her parent's cheap coke and had always been wary of ecstasy.

Her father stumbled over to her suddenly, and when she noticed that he seemed to be angry for some reason, it didn't surprise her. Whenever he got drunk, he got angry, and so she got to her feet and clenched her jaw when he ordered, "Come 'ere. I wanna talk to you."

She rolled her eyes and set down her drink, "Look, if you're gonna beat the crap out of me, can you at least do it tomorrow? It's my birthday."

"Shut your mouth," he snarled. Éponine, however, remained undaunted.

"Or what?" she challenged, "You'll do it for me? I'm an adult now. Think I can do it myself, _dad_."

"Listen here, bitch," he charged toward Éponine and grabbed her roughly, "You wanna be an adult? Fine. Get out."

For once, she was taken aback, "Out?"

"Leave. You're on your own now. We don't have to take care of your sorry ass anymore. You're an _adult_."

"Yeah?" she raised her voice, "And where the hell am I supposed to go?"

"Don't care. Not my problem anymore. Get out, and don't let me catch you here again."

Éponine's surprise quickly turned to anger, and she barred her teeth, intent on making him see that she didn't need him or her mother at all, even though she knew it might not be wise, "Fine."

With that, she spun around and stormed into her bedroom, Azelma hot on her heels. Once she was there, she picked up her pillowcase, took the pillow out of it, and then began to throw what few clothes she had into it, along with her last twenty dollars and an extra pair of sneakers. Her movements were quick and hasty, her breathing ragged and her eyes burning with rage. The wise part of her knew that she shouldn't go, that she should probably apologize and ask to stay because she didn't have anywhere else to go, but the headstrong, stubborn part of her absolutely refused to do so, to give her dad the satisfaction of admitting that he was right.

"What're you doing?" Azelma demanded, "W-where're you gonna go?"

"Don't know," Éponine bit out as she crammed one of her hoodies into her makeshift bag, "I'll figure it out."

"It's freezing outside! What're you gonna do, go to that shelter on 47th?"

"Hell no," her older sister scoffed, "I'll get molested by creepy old guys in my sleep."

"You can't leave! Don't go, 'Ponine, please," she urged, following Éponine around the room as she gathered her things.

"It's not up to me. Dad told me to get out." Éponine turned and noticed how upset her sister seemed. She forced a smile for her sake, "Don't worry. He'll forget what happened tomorrow morning and I'll come back."

"But tonight?" Azelma insisted, "What're you gonna do _tonight_?"

Éponine paused and chewed her bottom lip in contemplation, "I'll figure something out."

She gave her sister a quick hug and then left the room, her head and her step heavy. Once she was out amongst the partygoers once more, she stopped, glared pointedly at her father, and then flung the pillow case over her shoulder, sauntering out with her chin held high and slamming the door behind her. The instant she was outside by herself, however, she released a trembling breath, as she realized just how fucked she was. She didn't have any friends' houses she could go to, for she hadn't really ever talked to anyone back in school, and most other kids had been too afraid of Éponine to approach her anyway. She couldn't go stay with Marius; he lived in a dorm and had a roommate already – not to mention the fact that, if she went to him, she would have to tell him the truth. That was something she wasn't willing to do, she decided, and she was about to consider seeking out the nearest homeless shelter when a thought came to her. At once, she knew where she could go.

To Javert.

Not that she really wanted to, but he was far better than any of her alternatives, and if he hadn't been willing to help her before, he wouldn't have given her his number in the first place. Besides, she thought, it was only for a night. Surely he'd let her crash on his couch for one night and then be on her way in the morning, and it wasn't like anybody would ever have to know. Éponine was still very unsure of her decision as she crept slowly down the stairs, her skinny arms beginning to ache from the weight of the pillow case in her hands. Once she reached his door, she raised her hand to knock, but froze the moment her knuckle was resting on the rough wood.

What the hell was she doing? Going to a cop's door and asking him for help? She felt pathetic, but she had nowhere else to go and risked freezing to death if she tried to hunker down for the night in an alleyway. So, she took a deep breath and rapped on his door, then ground her teeth together and shifted her weight from one leg to the other as she heard heavy footsteps approach from the other side.

It swung open all at once, and when her eyes met Javert's, she tensed, forgetting for an instant the immense weight of her bag and the burning in the muscles in her arm. He showed no emotion upon seeing her; he looked like he always did: moderately bored and irritated with the world. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words shriveled up and died on her tongue before she could do so, and it fell shut a moment later as she took him in. He looked to have just gotten home from work and was still dressed in his uniform – which didn't surprise Éponine at all – and in that instant, she felt like a most unwanted intrusion.

"What're you doing here?" he asked lowly as he observed the pillow case in her hands, and Éponine licked her dry lips, feeling oddly small and childlike before him.

"I said…I wasn't gonna call," she sighed, an air of hopelessness about her, "This is me calling now, okay?"

Silently, Javert stepped aside and let her in, then closed the door behind Éponine and turned slowly to look at her. He said nothing, but gave her a look that beckoned her to explain herself, and after dropping the pillow case on the ground beside her and folding her arms, she told him, "I… may or may not have gotten myself kicked out of my apartment."

Javert clenched his jaw, "Why?"

"It's my eighteenth birthday," she remarked desolately, "And my dad got drunk and told me to leave." Éponine exhaled sharply and shook her head, "I just need somewhere to stay for the night."

"And you want to stay here," he started, looking almost incredulous. Éponine scowled, but kept her voice quiet and steady.

"If I had anywhere else to go, I wouldn't be here." She saw that he still didn't look convinced, and Éponine took a deep breath, "I'll sleep on the couch – just for tonight. My dad won't remember he kicked me out in the morning and I'll go back."

Javert stopped to think, furrowed his brow, and Éponine fidgeted uncomfortably beneath the intensity of his gaze. Then, he met her eyes, his stare icy and unwavering, and said only, "Fine."

Éponine nearly gaped; in all honesty, she'd expected him to turn her away, out onto the streets, just like her father had. He must've seen her shock, because he frowned again and reminded her, "For tonight only. Understand?" Meekly, she nodded, and he flattened his lips into a line, "I'll start dinner in half an hour."

Again, she nodded wordlessly, and he promptly disappeared into the next room, which she assumed was his bedroom. He nearly shut the door behind him, but accidentally left it open a little, and Éponine found her eyes drawn to the opening periodically as she wandered around, taking in the small, dusty space and looking at his few belongings. Just as she was beginning to walk past his bedroom door, however, she dared to peek inside briefly, only to find her eyes met with a sight for which she was entirely unprepared.

Having failed to notice his door wasn't closed, Javert had begun to change out of his uniform, and was in the process of unbuttoning the last few buttons on his shirt when Éponine happened to look in. Her first instinct was to look away quickly, but she was just as quick to look back, and she almost raised her eyebrows in surprise. Quite honestly, she wouldn't have expected him to be ripped at all at his age, but as she looked at him now, she could see even from a distance the definition of the muscles in his abdomen. Éponine swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and watched in silence as he removed the shirt from his arms and reached for his other one. His biceps, too, were bulky and muscular, and before she could help herself, Éponine realized she was staring.

Damn, she thought. For an uptight asshole who was probably more than twenty years older than her, he wasn't half bad to look at.

Javert happened to look toward the door, then, and noticed her. He was quick to storm over with a frown, glare at Éponine, and then shut it, leaving her by herself on the other side.

It only took her a moment to work up to courage to call out from behind the closed door, "Nice abs, Inspector!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Note: **Since this chapter moves a bit slowly and since I've got a long weekend away from school and work, there will be another update tomorrow in addition to this one where the action picks up a lot more. Enjoy!

* * *

**VI**

* * *

When Javert reemerged from his bedroom a few minute later, clad in a surprisingly casual long-sleeved white shirt and black pants, he glared pointedly at Éponine before walking into his kitchenette and starting dinner.

Having taken a seat on his old leather couch nearby, Éponine noticed and shrugged, "It wasn't my fault. You left the door open."

He said nothing and nearly rolled his eyes, then removed a pot from one of the cupboards and filled it with water, setting it on the stove and turning on one of the burners. All the while, Éponine watched him in silence and thought to herself how strange it was to see him at home, out of uniform, in such a domestic situation.

They lapsed into silence for a while, an air of awkwardness hanging heavily between them, until she ventured to ask, "What's for dinner?"

"Spaghetti," was all he said.

"That's it?" she shook her head and got to her feet.

Again, his reply was terse, "Yes."

Éponine scoffed and threw her hands up, "God, I'm _sorry _I saw you shirtless. Can we just forget it happened? Stop being so… uptight all the time."

He said nothing, and though she wanted an answer, she couldn't say she was surprised by his refusal to speak. So, she only sighed and folded her arms, wandering aimlessly around his apartment and noticing, all of a sudden, the complete lack of photos adorning the small space. All of the shelves were bare save for a few dusty old books, and there was no sign that he even had friends or a family, or any sort of life outside of work. Yet he didn't seem lonely, she thought with a frown. He didn't act like he yearned for the company of others, and whenever he was around her, he seemed perpetually annoyed by her presence.

No, Éponine decided. Javert wasn't lonely. Javert was just…alone.

Bored as she was, Éponine began to prod him, in an attempt to get him to talk at last, "Why is this place so empty?"

"I have furniture," he replied as he dumped a box of dry spaghetti into the boiling water.

"Yeah, but like…no pictures of anybody." Éponine flattened her lips into a line and shook her head, "What happened to your family?"

He did not turn away from his cooking and responded without hesitation, "I don't have one."

She made a sound of disbelief, "You have to."

"No, I don't," he repeated, more firmly this time, his tone commanding her to ask no more after his family. Somehow, she knew the story wouldn't be a happy one.

Éponine got the hint and stayed quiet for a minute as she strolled over to the counter behind which he was standing and took a seat on one of the stools in front of it. Then, she folded her hands on the cold surface of the counter and looked over at him as he stirred the pasta on the stove in silence.

"Ever been married?" she piped up, intending to ask him questions until she got some kind of real information from him. She couldn't say what had sparked her curiosity, really, yet after realizing just how truly alone he seemed, she couldn't help but wonder what had made him so solitary. He was more of a mystery than anyone she'd ever met, and if there was anything Éponine really enjoyed anymore, it was a mystery.

"I didn't let you stay here to play twenty questions with me," he bit out, his frustration evident in his clipped tone.

"If I guess, will you tell me the answer?" He still did not look at her, and Éponine smirked, "I'm going to guess… no."

He turned to the side to reach into one of the cupboards, "Fine. You're right."

"Never married? Really?" she raised her eyebrows, "Even with your abs?"

Javert turned to face her all at once, shutting the cabinet door so hard that it made a loud _bang, _"One more word about that and you're back out on the street."

Éponine furrowed her brow in surprise, and after he turned around once more, she frowned, "It was just a joke._ Sorry_."

After that, they lapsed into a silence that could not seem to be broken. She watched quietly from her seat on the counter as he went about his work, heating up a jar of tomato sauce and pouring it on the pasta once it had finished cooking. He almost forgot to make a second plate altogether, as he hadn't cooked for someone else in years, and she was far from ignorant to the fact. After what seemed like an eternity without speaking, he placed their plates on the table and took a seat. She followed suit and ate her dinner wordlessly, looking up at him every once in a while but always finding that he kept his eyes locked on his food. So she ate without speaking, and once he was done as well, he cleared away the plates, never once sparing her a glance all the while.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, she got to her feet and asked once more, "So you don't have a family?"

"That is what I said," he rasped.

"No family at all?"

He was growing irritated by her again, "None."

"What happened to them?" He didn't answer, and Éponine moved closer to where he stood, just beyond the counter, "Did they…die or something?"

"No."

"So what-"

Javert rounded on her suddenly, anger glowing in his eyes and a deep, frustrated scowl tugging his lips downward, "You want to know what happened to my family?" Éponine froze, but nodded timidly a moment later, and he barred his teeth at her, his tone harsh and his words biting, "I was born in a prison and taken from my mother. She never looked for me. I was in the system until I was eighteen. _I have no family_." Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened by shock, Éponine stood there dumbly, and he snarled, "Are you happy now?"

Éponine lowered her eyes, "I didn't know. I'm…sorry."

Javert turned away from her and walked back into his little kitchen, turning his back to her in anger. Éponine could hardly move in the tense atmosphere of the room, and it took her a moment to remember how to walk again. Once she had, she strolled slowly back over to the counter and sat down on the stool only feet away from him, searching for something to say but finding that words evaded her.

"We lived under a highway overpass one winter," she blurted out suddenly, prompting him to turn and face her again as she spoke. Éponine took a deep breath, "It was so…cold. Cold as hell. I remember thinking…" she exhaled and shook her head, "I remember thinking it'd be easier to jump into traffic than spend another day there." She licked her lips, "It was just me and my sister most of the time. Whenever my parents were there they were high as a kite." Long-forgotten anger bled into her eyes, and she clenched her jaw, "We were living under a fucking highway overpass and they spent all our money on coke."

Silence followed her words for a minute, and much to her surprise, Javert was the one to end it, "You should go back to school."

"What? Why?"

"It's the only way to get out. Break the cycle," he told her gruffly.

"I'd still be a sophomore. And if I don't work we won't be able to pay rent," she tried to tell him, but he was having none of it.

"Then get your GED," Javert said, "Do yourself a favor. Finish school."

Éponine knit her eyebrows together, "Why do you care?"

His voice grew low, serious, and he met her eyes in a steady gaze, "If I hadn't finished school, I'd be like your father now." Though he hated paying compliments, he told her, "You're smart. Don't become a victim of your circumstances."

She leaned back in her chair and observed him with a look of contemplation on her face, "How'd you become a cop anyway?"

"I grew up surrounded by crime," he said as he dried the dishes and returned them to the cupboard, "You either obey the law or you break it. I was born in prison and I decided I wasn't going back."

"Damn," she raised her eyebrows, "I might actually have a good role model for once in my life."

At that, he rolled his eyes, "I am not a role model." He took a step toward his bedroom door then, clearly ready to go to bed for the night, but turned back after a moment and informed her, "There're blankets on the couch if you need them."

"Okay." For a moment neither of them said anything, until Éponine looked over at him and gave him a crooked little grin, "Goodnight. And…" she took a breath and released it slowly, "Thanks, Inspector."

Though he hated the nickname she'd given him, Javert said nothing in response, instead only nodding politely at her, ducking into his bedroom once more, and making a point to close the door behind him. She watched him go without a word, and after a moment, she strolled over to his couch, switched off the light on the table next to it, and curled up underneath a ratty brown blanket. It took her a while to fall asleep even though she was a little drunk and exhausted by the day's events, and when she finally did drift off into unconsciousness, she slept restlessly, dreaming all throughout the night but, upon awakening just before dawn, finding that she couldn't remember a single one of her dreams. For some reason, she had the faintest idea that they had involved Javert.

Sighing, she sat up and glanced over at the clock on the stove, which she noticed read almost five in the morning. She kicked off the blanket, got to her feet, and then folded it neatly, leaving it on the arm of the sofa and heading for the door. Finally, after taking one last look around his tiny apartment, Éponine opened the door as quietly as she could and slipped outside, back into the darkness.

* * *

She spent days thinking over Javert's words to her.

No matter how hard she tried to ignore them, they festered in the back of her mind every day, never consenting to leave her be. They were like cancer; they grew more and more with each passing moment, until, after a week had passed, she could avoid them no longer. _Finish school. Don't become a victim of your circumstances. _It was all the inspirational bullshit her guidance counselors at school had spouted at her for so many years, and before, it'd all just bounced off of Éponine, but now, coming from Javert, it meant something else, something more. His words had affected her, and she couldn't seem to push the idea out of her mind. She didn't have the time or the desire to go back to high school, but her GED? That she might be able to do. It probably wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't as if she was totally stupid and unwilling to learn. If she worked hard enough, she could pass. What real good would a GED do her? She wasn't sure. She sure as hell didn't have enough money for college and probably didn't have much of a future beyond the South Side, but hell, she decided. It was worth a shot.

Though she hated the place, Éponine dressed herself in her black winter coat and decided to venture back to her old school one frigid Tuesday afternoon, more than a week after she'd spoken with Javert. She wasn't really sure what she was doing, if she'd even have the balls to go inside and ask about the GED, but she found her thoughts interrupted when she heard a high-pitched voice call out her name in the distance and footsteps pitter pattering on the sidewalk behind her.

Éponine spun around to face the sound and discovered her younger brother Gavroche running toward her, clad only in a short-sleeved shirt and ripped up jeans. His sandy-blonde hair was scruffy and needed to be trimmed, looking as if hadn't been washed in weeks. Even though he was dirty, Gavroche looked to be in relatively good spirits for an eleven year-old who was living out on the streets by himself. Sure, her parents got annoyed by her frequently, but usually not annoyed enough to kick her out permanently – which was precisely what had happened to Gav. He was even more of a smartass than she was, and one night about five months ago, they'd gotten drunk and a little high and kicked him out after he'd stolen one of Mr. Thénardier's beers. At first Éponine had offered to go with him, but he'd shaken his head and scampered off merrily into a world of complete uncertainty. He was dirt poor and hungry and homeless, but as Gav ran toward her with a giant smile on his face, she realized that he was happy nonetheless, simply because he was free. He didn't need heat or a mother's love or regular meals; as long as he had his freedom, he was happy, and for a moment, Éponine envied him that.

"'Ponine!" he stopped in front of her with flushed cheeks, breathless from running, "Been looking for you."

"Hey, Gav," she pulled him into a quick hug and ruffled his greasy hair, "How've you been?"

"Good. I've started sleeping inside that statue in the park. It's way warmer than a tent."

"Mom and dad'd let you come back now. It's been months."

He shook his head and smirked, "Nah, I'm happier here. I don't get beat up as much anymore. What about you?" He cocked his head to one side, "How're you?"

She managed to smile, but even she could tell it looked forced, "I'm okay."

"What about 'Zelma. She all right?"

"Yeah," she nodded and began to walk along with Gav at her side, "Yeah, we're good. Mom and dad are drunk and high as usual. I got fired again. What're you doing here anyway? You should be in school."

"School? Pff," he scoffed, "I got suspended last week."

"For what?"

"Spray painted my name on the wall and stuck thumb tacks on one of my teacher's chairs," he told her, as if it was nothing.

"Shit, Gav," she swore, then realized her error and tried to correct herself, "I mean… shoot."

Her younger brother laughed and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, "Don't worry. When you live with hobos you hear a lot worse."

"Just be careful," she frowned, "I don't want you to get hurt out here."

"I won't. I'm too smart." He seemed to remember something then, and his brown eyes lit up, a half-smirk pulling at his lips, "Saw your boyfriend Marius a few days ago."

Éponine shifted uncomfortably and gulped, "Don't call him that." At first, she tried to hold back her curiosity, but it hastened to express itself before she could rein it in, "Where did you see him?"

"Some little café on 48th street. I go in there sometimes to steal donuts," Gav said, "He was with a bunch of rich kids. I know a few of them. They were talking about…weird stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like the government or something. They were talking about barricading up a street and… getting guns," Gavroche seemed to realize the implication of his words and frowned, "But it was probably nothing. What're you doing around here anyway?" He looked up at the school ahead, "Thought you dropped out."

"I did," she sighed and watched her breath float up into the bitterly cold air, "I'm thinking about getting my GED."

"What're you gonna do with that?"

"I don't know. I was just…talking to someone and they told me I should."

He raised an eyebrow, "Who?"

"Whatever. Nevermind."

"Okay," Gavroche chirped, "Well, gotta go. See ya!"

Without another word, Gavroche spun around and scampered off, leaving her to walk by herself once more as she watched him go. As she neared the school, however, Éponine found herself wondering what the hell she was doing. What good would it do to get her GED? She'd never go to college, or have a job that even promised to be something more than dead-end. She wasn't any better than the hood, she thought with a frown. Not any better than 'Parnasse and Gavroche and maybe even her dad, and maybe she was stupid for thinking she could ever be. But even so, she kept walking until she reached her old school and stepped inside once more with a frown. She'd always hated the place and everyone in it, but she stomached the walk to the main office as best she could and ducked inside quickly, coming to stand before a desk with a frowning, middle-aged secretary sitting behind it.

The woman looked her up and down with a critical eye, taking in her ratty clothing and scuffed sneakers, and then asked, "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, uh…" Éponine paused and licked her dry lips, "I'm Éponine. Thénardier. I-I used to go here."

"You dropped out?" the woman asked blandly.

Éponine picked at the frayed threads on the sleeve of her coat, "Yeah."

"So…why are you here?"

"I want to get my GED," she declared, and the secretary took off her glasses in surprise.

"You do realize that requires effort, right? Time?"

Éponine somehow managed to bite her tongue, and only exhaled sharply, "Yeah. I do."

"You don't want to re-enroll here?"

She shook her head, "I can't. I have to work."

"All right then," the woman got to her feet and pulled out a large book from a nearby shelf, "Well, a diploma looks better. But the GED is like the diploma for lazy people. And dropouts." Éponine began to open her mouth to retort when the woman pushed the heavy, paperback book into her hands and said, "Look through these practice tests. Come back once you're ready."

With that, the secretary returned to her work, and Éponine left the office with a thoughtful frown on her face as she felt the heaviness of the book in her hands and felt the coarseness of the pages within. She didn't really know what she was doing or why she'd done it, but as she walked back out into the freezing winter afternoon, she felt a strange, stupid little seed of hope bury itself in her heart and start to take root.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII**

* * *

When Javert returned to his apartment after a long, exhausting day of work, he found, alarmingly enough, that his door was ajar.

With narrowed eyes and one hand on his gun, he pushed it open and crept as quietly as he could into his apartment, surveying the area with a trained, analytical eye. As he entered, however, he didn't find anything disturbed or out of place, and from that, he could almost certainly conclude that he hadn't been robbed. This only confused him more, and when he entered the living area next to his kitchenette, he found himself encountered with an even more perplexing sight. Someone was seated at his counter with their head bowed over a book, and it only took him a moment to recognize the familiar messy brown hair and slight build.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, and Éponine turned back to look at him with a look of surprise that quickly gave way to amusement.

"Studying," she said simply, and he furrowed his brow.

"Studying what-" he shook his head, remembering what was really important right now, "How did you get in?"

Éponine looked back to her book and didn't say anything; she only reached into her pocket and held up a bobby pin.

Javert stood there in frustration, not knowing how to reply, and Éponine looked back at him with a crooked grin, "You should get your locks upgraded."

"You couldn't study at home?" he demanded as he removed his coat and hung it on the nearby coatrack.

"My parents were drunk and had the stereo on full blast. I couldn't focus."

"Just because I let you stay here one night," he told her, "doesn't mean you're free to come here whenever you want."

Éponine didn't seem to hear him, nor did she glance up from her reading, "You said you wanted me to get my GED."

"Yes," he frowned, failing to see how that was relevant.

Briefly, she lifted up the cover of the book so that he could see it and raised her eyebrows, "I can't pass it if I don't study."

Though she wasn't looking at him, she could feel the atmosphere in the room change, and his eyes softened somewhat. He walked over to where she sat and came to stand on the other side of the counter, just across from her. Then, he observed, his voice low and gruff, "You're going to do it."

Éponine shrugged, "Dunno. Might as well. I did okay in school."

"Good," he folded his arms.

"Still going to kick me out?"

Though she could see that he looked slightly unsure about her presence, he only flattened his lips into a thin line, "No."

She gave him a thankful little smile, "Hey, you good at geometry?"

"No," he informed her dryly, and she ran a hand through her hair, resting her chin on her hands and sighing.

"Shit. I don't know how to do any of this." She perked up then, and breathed out to clear her mind, "But I'm not gonna give up. Or be a victim of my circumstances." Silence overcame them for a second, and she was the one to end it by speaking up once more, "Did you get your GED?"

"No," he shook his head and walked over to the nearby coffee table, where he set his keys, "I finished high school."

Éponine gave him a sort of mocking grin, "I bet you were popular back then."

Javert didn't say anything, and instead only gave her a dead stare, as if to ask if she really needed an answer to that. Éponine got the hint and looked back to her book, then asked him after a moment, "Think you could get me a job scrubbing toilets at the police station or something?"

"The rookies scrub the toilets."

Éponine flipped a page in her book and chewed on her bottom lip, "Well, I need to get some kind of job. No other place besides McDonald's wanted to hire me; they all knew who my dad is. And I'm sure as hell not going there and asking for my job back."

"You're too proud," he remarked suddenly, and she almost scoffed, "If you need a job that badly, ask them for it."

"You want me to grovel at my boss's feet? At _Kermit's_ feet?" Éponine bit out a laugh, "I'm not going to beg someone named after a Muppet for help."

Javert's face remained impassive, "So what, then? You and your family will get evicted. You'll be out on the streets, worse off than you are now, and you'll turn to crime for a living like your parents. Or, you'll become a prostitute."

Thick, heavy silence reigned for a moment, so thick that it felt almost palpable to the two of them.

Angered by the truth in his words, Éponine scowled, "Fuck you."

Javert did nothing but raise his eyebrows; they both knew he was right, and Éponine hated him for it.

But she sure as hell wasn't going to admit it, and so she got to her feet all at once and advanced toward him, her eyes narrowed with rage and her teeth clenched, "_Fuck. You_."

With that, she spun around, collected her book, and started toward the door – and the moment she did so, the back of her neck came into full view for Javert, as she'd put her hair up into a messy ponytail earlier that day. Even from a distance he could see the large, dark bruise that bloomed on her skin like a gruesome purple flower, and it didn't take him long to realize what – or who – had given it to her.

"Stop."

His voice boomed out from behind her, low and gravelly and so forceful that it stopped her right in her tracks.

She turned her head back slightly to look at him, "What?"

"Your neck," was all he said, and he didn't need to say anything else; Éponine understood perfectly.

She stopped what she was doing and turned fully to look at him, her shoulders drooping and her eyes lowered. She brought her hands to the bruise and touched it lightly, hissing and drawing her hand back a moment later. Not more than a week after her dad had thrown her out, he'd gone into one of his drunken rages again, and she'd been unfortunate enough to once again be the recipient of his fury. Not that it bothered her much, though. She'd grown used to it a long time ago.

Éponine shook her head, her initial surprise giving way to anger once more, "What am I supposed to do every time he hits me? Come crying to you? I can take care of myself. I can handle _myself_!"

"Learn how to hit back," he told her suddenly, and she looked at him strangely.

"What?"

"If you won't ask for help," Javert said simply, "learn how to hit back."

"I_ know_ how to punch somebody," she hissed.

"Come here," he told her lowly, and with a sigh, she threw down her book and reluctantly plodded over to where he stood.

"What?"

"Hit me."

His face was blank and devoid of emotion, and Éponine blinked in surprise, "What, like in the face?"

"No. You'll break your hand if you hit my jaw. In the stomach."

"You sure?" Éponine looked cautious, yet Javert displayed not even a hint of trepidation and only nodded.

Taking that as confirmation, Éponine tightened her hand into a fist, took a deep breath, and hit him as hard as she could in the gut, partly because she was still mad at him and figured that doing so would feel pretty satisfying. However, Javert showed no reaction, and the moment her hand connected with his abdomen, she cried out in pain and drew back, the firm muscles in his stomach unyielding beneath her assault.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, clutching her throbbing hand and roaring in pain, "_God_, that hurt!"

"You did it wrong," he said simply, and she scoffed.

"Yeah, thanks for the lesson! Really fucking useful."

Without warning, he reached for her hand and held it firmly in his grasp, inadvertently pulling her closer to him as well. Then, he placed two of his fingers on the outside of her hand and looked her steadily in the eyes, "Don't tuck your thumb into your fingers; you'll break it when you land the hit. Put it here." Slowly, he positioned her thumb so that it was curled below her clenched fingers, "Keep your fist tight." He felt her tighten her fist and shook his head with a scowl, "No. Too tight." She loosened her grip, and he nodded, "Better. Your wrist has to be straight. Always protect your chin."

For a moment, Éponine stopped listening to what he was saying and instead only looked at him, strangely fascinated by the sight of this mystery of a man so close to her. He smelled faintly of mint and old books, his gaze steady and his grip firm, almost iron-like. His eyes were even more frightening up close, and she thought that he looked as if he could read her mind and knew everything she was going to do before she did it. He was almost a full foot taller than Éponine, towering over her at his impressive height, and though she wasn't particularly short, she felt like a midget in front of him. His touch, though commanding, had a strange sort of firm gentleness in it as well, and in that instant, Éponine did nothing but look at him, her mouth slightly agape.

Javert, however, remained oblivious to that, and as his voice faded back into her consciousness, she heard him tell her, "Try again."

"Anywhere I want?" she asked, "Even in the face?"

"If you have to."

Éponine stopped, thought for a moment, readied her fist like he'd told her to do, and stood up straight. Then, she positioned her hand and threw a punch at him, striking him hard in the face and jerking his head roughly to the side. Javert made no sound of surprise, as if he'd been expecting it, but when he turned his head back to look at her, she noticed a dark stream of blood trickling down from one of his nostrils. Éponine's eyes widened, and she nearly covered her mouth with her hands in surprise. She wasn't really sure why she'd done it – if she'd hit him there to prove that she really could throw a good punch, or because she was still sort of angry at him – but immediately, she felt guilt settle into her stomach.

"Shit," she swore, moving toward him cautiously, "Sorry."

"No," Javert sniffed and dabbed at the blood on his face, "That was good."

"Here," Éponine scurried over and retrieved a paper towel from the nearby counter, then hurried back over to him and held it up to the blood just below his nose. He took hold of it after a moment, and she stepped back, folding her arms and shifting her weight from leg to leg, "I-I didn't mean to do that. Well, I mean…I _kinda_ meant to, but…" She shook her head, "Sorry."

Javert didn't say anything; he only walked heavily over to the couch and sat down upon it, holding the paper towel to his nose as the flow of blood subsided. Hesitantly, she strolled over to the sofa as well and sat beside Javert, glancing sideways at him out of the corner of her eye.

Then, she angled her body toward him and reached out to touch his aching nose, "Did I break it?"

"No," he shrugged her away and got to his feet, "You should get home. It's late."

"Yeah," she nodded and stood as well, then picked up her book and prepared to leave. Just when she had reached the door, however, she turned back to look at him with a faint smile on her lips, "See ya."

The words sounded odd to Javert, as they meant that they would meet again soon, and the idea of inevitable companionship left him with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't particularly like the company of others and preferred to be alone; he'd never felt the need to socialize or make friends. Yet even so, Javert couldn't help but think in the back of his mind, as he dabbed at the bloody nose Éponine had given him, that maybe her presence wouldn't be completely unwelcome.

* * *

A few nights later, as Éponine was sitting on the couch at home with her GED book in one hand and a cigarette in the other, Montparnasse plopped down beside her and cozied up close. She didn't look at him, hoping that he would take the hint and leave, but when she felt him try to slip his hand past the band of her sweatpants, she scowled and swatted him away.

"Cut it out."

Montparnasse smirked, "I need your help with something."

"If it involves sucking you off, I'm not interested," she deadpanned, still not bothering to look up from her reading.

"I've been scouting out a house on 59th. Nice place. Big. I'm going there tonight. Wanna come?"

Éponine slammed her book shut and got to her feet, "I don't do that kind of stuff anymore."

"Bullshit. Why not?" he followed her as she stalked across the room and to the fridge.

"I'm not risking it," she hissed, "I don't wanna go to juvie."

"Who says you'll have to? I'm good at what I do."

Éponine made a sound of disbelief as she pulled out a Coke and took a sip of it, "The last time you took me with you we got caught. And the time after that you got arrested!"

"Come on," he urged, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into him, "I'll give you half of whatever we get."

She rolled her eyes, "That's what you said last time and_ I_ was the one who got fucked. _No_."

"But these people've got nice stuff. Laptops. Flatscreens. Fuckin' iPads and shit, I don't know-"

"And we're gonna carry_ flatscreens_ out of the house with us?"

Montparnasse rolled his eyes, "Just do it. Come on. I know you got fired and this's easy money."

Knowing he was right, Éponine felt herself beginning to waver, and she set her drink down on the counter with a sigh, "How well did you scout it out?"

"Good! Just chill. It's fine."

Éponine bit her lip, "Why don't you just get one of the guys to help you?"

"I want this to be a quick job. Every time I drag them along things get complicated. And besides…" he smirked, "seeing you in a ski mask turns me on."

Éponine smacked him lightly on the shoulder and exhaled sharply, finally giving in, "I'll meet you here at midnight. _Don't _be late."

The rest of the night passed rather quickly, and Montparnasse returned to her apartment just before midnight to fetch Éponine. After grabbing a ski mask and putting on a black hoodie and leggings, Éponine followed him out the door and onto the street, where they walked in the shadows and in dark alleyways. Finally, they reached their destination – a reasonably sized home with a well-maintained garden out front – and slipped around the back.

They found the back door with ease, and Éponine pulled out her trusty bobby pin, inserting it masterfully into the lock and turning it until it clicked. Once they gained entry, they stepped silently into the home and closed the door behind them. It was one of the most spacious homes she'd ever seen, with fancy decorations and paintings adorning nearly every wall, and for a moment, she did nothing but look around with a strange fascination and sudden jealousy bubbling up inside her.

All the fancy shit on the walls was probably worth more than she'd make in two years, but she shook the thought away with a scowl.

"I'll go to the living room," Montparnasse hissed, "Look here."

Éponine nodded and began to survey what looked to be the family room. There was a small, ornately decorated box with jewelry in it that she quickly crammed into her pockets, as well as a laptop left charging in the corner which she swiped as well. Montparnasse, having found an iPad and cellphone, returned to her and motioned for her to follow him. She did so without a word, and just as they were walking past the door to the basement, they were stopped by a loud, booming voice behind them.

"You two," it boomed, "Get out of my house!"

They spun around quickly to find a balding middle-aged man clad in sweatpants and a robe holding a pistol at them, showing no fear, his hold on the gun as steady as his gaze. Éponine froze and almost swore aloud under her breath, but Montparnasse responded only by reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small knife that gleamed ominously in the moonlight.

Immediately upon seeing it, she tensed. She hadn't even known he had brought a weapon; she'd thought this was going to be a routine break-in – nothing that involved guns and knives.

"Oh yeah?" 'Parnasse challenged, "Who's gonna make us?"

""Parnasse," she hissed, "Let's get out of here."

"I already called the cops," the man bit out, "Drop everything you have and _go_."

"Go ahead. Shoot me, old man."

"'Parnasse!" she spat, but he ignored her again.

"Get your hood rat ass the hell outta my house or I'll shoot!" the man growled.

Éponine looked over at Montparnasse, and noticed there was a disturbing, blood-thirsty gleam in his eyes that she'd never seen before.

"I won't say it again, boy!"

Without warning, Montparnasse charged toward the man, managed to wrestle the gun out of his hands, and, before Éponine even realized what he was doing, he thrust his blade roughly in the man's stomach and jerked it sideways with a growl. Éponine watched in horror as Montparnasse drew back, blood seeping from the wound in the man's abdomen and staining his white shirt. Montparnasse didn't look at him long, however, and instead, he reached for the fallen gun, aimed it at the man, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing came out, and their ears were met with only a faint, metallic _click_.

It hadn't even been loaded.

Éponine gulped and stood there with wide eyes, taking in the scene before her with terror, her knees weakening and threatening to collapse beneath her. Breathing heavily, Montparnasse dropped the gun and stepped back as the man lay there moaning on the ground, blood pooling around him. Only when she looked upon the bleeding man did she truly realize the magnitude of what he'd done, and she glanced over at 'Parnasse with dread settling like lead in her stomach.

"You _stabbed_ him?" she exclaimed, "The gun wasn't even loaded!"

"What was I supposed to do, huh? I didn't know that!"

"You should've just _run _or something! Shit, shit, _shit_…" she placed her hands on her head in distress.

"Look, calm down. Let's go-"

"Calm down?" she cried, "_You fucking killed him_, 'Parnasse!"

"If the cops find us here, we're fucked," he hissed, "Get the stuff and come with me!"

Éponine, however, shook her head and fell to her knees numbly beside the injured man, "We gotta help him."

"Are you crazy? The cops'll be here any second!"

"He'll bleed to death!"

Montparnasse only shook his head, "Not my problem. Come _on_."

Éponine shook her head in disbelief, unable to comprehend how he would be so willing to run and leave this man to die, to end a life like he was doing nothing more than squishing a gnat. She knew the police were coming and that she should get out of here as soon as she could, lest she be caught and do serious time, yet for some reason she couldn't go, even though every muscle in her body was screaming at her to run. Her legs felt heavy and cold, as if they'd been cemented to the ground, and in that instant, she realized she couldn't leave, no matter how much she wanted to.

"I'm not going," she told him after what felt like an eternity of silence, "He'll die-"

"Who the fuck cares if he dies? _I_ care if I go to jail."

"Then get out of here!" she hissed, her voice raspy with anger, "_Fuck off_! Run like the fucking pussy you are!"

Montparnasse hesitated, looked at her for a moment, then finally bent down, grabbed the few things they'd taken, and ran for the back door, disappearing outside within seconds. Éponine watched him go with hatred burning in her eyes, but she was quick to pull off her ski mask and look back to the bleeding man on the ground, who by now was no longer moaning in pain and seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. Knowing that she had to stem the flow of blood if he was to have any chance of living, she put her hands on the deep gash in his belly and pressed down, not bothering to utter any words of comfort to him. What would she say? 'Sorry my friend stabbed and possibly killed you, but don't worry, I'm going to help!' Éponine shook her head and gulped, applying as much pressure as her skinny wrists could manage. Somehow, she sensed it would be futile, but she didn't dare stop. She had to know she was trying, at least.

Then, just outside the front door, she heard what sounded like half a dozen heavy footsteps, and shortly after, she noticed the reflection of the red and blue lights of police cars in the windows behind her. Her breathing sped up and panic rushed through her veins, but even so, she remained where she was, staring blankly into the panicked man's eyes as the pool of blood around them grew larger. It felt thick and sticky on her fingers, creeping under her fingernails and into the creases in her palms, and the scent made her stomach roil.

She heard a crash from the foyer as the police broke through the front door, and hardly a minute later, they came upon her sitting there, her hands soaked in blood and an unmistakable look of guilt on her face. One of them shined a flashlight in her face, and when she turned to look at it, she squinted, her eyes nearly closing completely as the deluge of brilliance assaulted them. In the darkness, it took her a moment to make out the face of the person holding it, and when she did, her stomach sank.

It was Javert, shining a flashlight in her eyes and staring at the blood on her hands.


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII**

* * *

They locked her bloody hands in handcuffs hardly five seconds later.

Without uttering a word to her, Javert grabbed her by the arm and guided her into the backseat of his cruiser, handling her roughly, like she was no different than any other criminal. His partner sat beside him in the passenger side, and in the back of her mind, she remembered the night Javert had given her a ride home and she'd sat in the front with him.

Morosely, she thought to herself that she was only back where she belonged, now.

The drive to the station seemed interminable. Neither Javert nor his partner spoke, and once they arrived, Javert got out and pulled her roughly to her feet, never sparing her more than a passing glance of disdain, then guided her into the station and left her in one of the holding cells. After a few hours, she was booked, and then led into a room for questioning. It looked just like the one she'd been in before, with blank white walls and nothing more than a table and chairs. She was sweating, her heart pounding madly inside her, and as she waited, she picked nervously at her fingers until they ached and bled. Thankfully, they'd let her wash her hands shortly after arriving, but the man's blood hadn't washed out from underneath her fingernails, and she felt queasy at the sight of it.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the door creaked open and Javert stepped inside, wearing a cold expression and carrying a single folder in his hand. She almost let out a breath of relief, thankful that it was him who would be questioning her and not somebody else, but when she noticed how he was looking at her – as if he didn't even know who she was – her heart sank, and she deflated somewhat, hunching in on herself and lowering her eyes. Silently, Javert took a seat across from her and pulled out a few pieces of paper from the manila folder. He wrote on them for a moment, never once looking up at her or acknowledging her presence, and after a while, Éponine decided she couldn't stand the weight of the silence between them anymore.

"Say something," she muttered. He didn't oblige her, but she hadn't really expected him to. She shifted uncomfortably, "What about that guy? I-is he-"

"Dead."

Éponine felt her head begin to spin, and she released all the breath in her body in one trembling exhalation. When she spoke, her voice was nothing more than a pathetic squeak, "What?"

Javert still didn't look up at her, "He was pronounced dead at 1:07 AM. Internal hemorrhaging and loss of blood."

Éponine paled. Her mouth felt dry. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and a chill ran up her spine.

At last, Javert looked up at her, and his gaze was frigid when he spoke, "You killed him."

"No," she croaked, shaking her head wildly, "_No_."

"Then you better explain to me what you were doing in his house with his blood on your hands."

"I…I broke into his house. But I didn't kill him-"

"Then who did?" Javert's tone was clipped, terse.

"_Montparnasse_. I-I didn't hurt him, I swear!"

Her words had little effect on him, "Where is Montparnasse now?"

She was struggling to breathe. It felt like the walls were closing in on her, "I don't know. He ran." Javert didn't reply, and she gulped, "I didn't do it. You have to believe me-"

"Pardon me if I'm unwilling to take your word for it."

Anger flared up inside her, and she barred her teeth at him, "Do you really think I'm stupid enough to kill someone?"

"I don't know what to believe."

"You…" she shook her head, "You know me. Y-you know I wouldn't kill anybody. Come on…" He didn't say anything, and Éponine frowned, "You have to believe me."

"You're lucky it's me questioning you now, and not one of the detectives," he told her lowly, "They won't be nearly as patient."

"The…detectives?" she furrowed her brow.

"I'm just an officer," he said, "Not one of the investigators. They'll be here soon." Javert scooted the chair out and got to his feet, "You'll refuse to answer questions and demand a lawyer if you're smart."

"I-I don't need a lawyer!" she exclaimed, "I'm innocent!"

He turned to look at her, his upper lip curled into a hideous sneer, "_Innocent_? You're an accomplice to murder. You are just as guilty as the boy who stabbed him. That man's blood is on your hands!"

The intensity and truth of his words left her unable to reply, and before she could will them away, she felt tears burn her eyes. Éponine lowered her head, not wanting to let him see her cry.

Javert's anger cooled somewhat as he looked at her, and after a moment, she spoke up, her voice shaky and thick with sorrow, "I tried to save him." Once she noticed that he seemed to be listening, she continued, "H-he had a gun and he was pointing it at 'Parnasse. And I told 'Parnasse to leave, I-I told him to run, but he wouldn't. He just…stabbed him, like it was nothing. The guy's gun hadn't even been loaded. 'Parnasse told me to come with him before the police got there, but…" Éponine swallowed, "I couldn't leave. He was just going to let him…_die_." Javert sat back down and pulled out a notepad, writing down every word she said, "I tried to put pressure on his stomach. That's what you're supposed to do to stop the bleeding, right?"

She fell silent, then looked up at Javert suddenly with fire burning in her red-rimmed eyes, "Do you really think I would've stayed and tried to help if _I'd_ stabbed him?"

"No," he told her honestly, "I don't." Again, he stood and folded his arms, "Tell the investigators that."

Suddenly, she felt terribly vulnerable, and she gulped, "You're just going to…leave me?"

"It's not my job to protect you," he rasped, but when he noticed how scared she seemed, he lowered his voice, "If you tell them everything you know, they'll make you a deal."

Éponine took a breath and nodded comprehension. Her voice was hoarse and quiet when she spoke, "Okay."

Javert gave her one last look, frowned, and then turned and disappeared out the door, leaving her alone once more. Shortly afterward, the investigators he'd told her about entered and questioned her, far more harshly than Javert had. More than once, she found herself wishing he was there interrogating her instead, but she kept calm as best she could and told them everything that had happened: how 'Parnasse had stabbed the man, how he'd run and she'd stayed even though she knew the police were coming. They seemed satisfied with her answers, and after they were done with her, they escorted her down to the holding cells once more, leaving her in one that was, thankfully, empty. Her eyelids were begging to close and rest, and as she curled up into a ball on the floor, exhaustion overcame her, yet for some reason, she couldn't sleep. She couldn't stop seeing the terrified look in the man's eyes as he lay dying; she couldn't stop smelling the blood, and the memory of its thickness coating her hands was as fresh in her mind as if it'd happened only seconds ago.

She had killed a man. She hadn't wielded the knife, but what did that matter? She'd stood by and done nothing while 'Parnasse did. Maybe she was as guilty as Javert said she was. Maybe they'd find her guilty too and send her to prison, and maybe that was where she belonged.

Not more than half an hour later, she heard footsteps outside her cell, and looked up just in time to see Javert step inside the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He spoke with the guard who was watching her for a moment and seemed to convince him of something, because the man left shortly thereafter and Javert took his spot, standing across from Éponine and locking his gaze firmly on her. At first she avoided his eyes, wishing he would just leave her to her misery, but when it became clear that he wasn't going to leave, she moved herself closer to the bars and peered out at him.

"What're you doing here?" she asked.

"I am on duty," was all he said. She furrowed her brow.

"But…the other guy was on duty here."

"Yes," he raised his chin, "He had somewhere else to be."

She didn't believe that for a moment. "You told him to leave."

He gave her nothing more than a nod, and she slunk back against the wall. After a moment, he asked, "What did you say to them?"

"What I said to you. They didn't tell me anything. Didn't offer me a deal. Just…dragged me here."

"They will," he told her.

"Am I gonna go to prison?" she asked suddenly.

"I can't answer that."

"But…" she shook her head, "Do you think I will?"

Much to her surprise, he shook his head, "No. You didn't commit the murder. You watched, but you didn't do it." For a moment Javert paused, and then, he straightened his back, "You tried to save the victim, and you didn't flee the scene of the crime or resist arrest."

"So," she chucked darkly, "maybe I'm not as fucked as I thought I was."

"You got mixed up with the wrong people and it became deadly," he said lowly, "It's not an excuse. But I understand."

"You do?" she scoffed, "What, were you into shoplifting in your day?"

Javert narrowed his eyes at the words _in your day_, "I got in with bad people. Did bad things."

"Inspector Javert was a juvenile delinquent?" she almost laughed, but found she was too tired to do so, "Guess there's still hope for me then."

He frowned at the irritating nickname she insisted on using, "_Officer_."

She ignored that and climbed to her feet on unsteady legs, "Get me out of here."

"Your bail hasn't been set," he informed her dryly, "And they'll want to speak with you again soon."

"Well, can I at least get something to eat? I'm your only witness. You can't let me starve."

"Not right now."

Éponine rolled her eyes. She was desperate to get out of this cell, and if she didn't, she was sure she would go stir crazy. Then, an idea hatched in her mind, and she folded her arms, declaring loudly, "I need to use the bathroom."

Realizing what she was doing, Javert rolled his eyes, but he couldn't find a reason to deny her that. Instead, he pulled the keys out of his pocket, opened the cell door, and pulled her out by the arm, guiding her down the hall and to a little bathroom. He opened the door and took her inside, closing it behind them and then turning to her. Once they were standing still, Éponine frowned and put her hands on her hips.

"Well," she snapped, "Get out."

"I have to stay," he said, looking just about as thrilled as she was by the prospect, "Protocol."

She exhaled sharply, "Fine. Turn around."

Javert did so, and once he was facing the wall, she smirked, "Bet this is the highlight of your day. Guarding prisoners in the can."

He didn't say anything and only scowled, listening to the sound of her unzipping her pants with indifference. For a moment there was almost total silence – but then, out of nowhere, he heard the door open suddenly and slam shut. He turned just in time to see Éponine disappear outside into the hallway, and cursed under his breath as he took off after her.

Éponine, meanwhile, was darting through the halls without sparing a thought for the policeman hot on her heels. She nearly body-slammed an officer carrying a stack of papers, and when she hit him, they flew everywhere, spiraling madly in all directions. She turned the corner quickly, evading two policemen with hot coffees in their hands, and did a ninja-like jump over a cart carrying papers. She could hear Javert shouting after her, ordering her to stop, but she did no such thing and instead only kept sprinting onward. She was doing pretty well until she almost knocked over one of the clerks and stumbled, nearly falling flat on her face. This gave Javert enough time to catch up with her, and when he did, he yanked her up from the floor and to her feet, locking her wrists into handcuffs roughly. Once he had, he spun her around to face him, anger smoldering in his eyes. He was only inches from her face, and the feeling of him so close to her made her heart thump madly inside her chest.

No, she thought. It was only because she'd just been running. She was out of breath and kind of afraid, that was all. But her heart wouldn't slow down as she looked into his eyes, and she couldn't figure out why.

"What do you think you're doing?" he spat, leaning in close to her.

She struggled to steady her voice, "The hell does it look like I'm doing? Trying to get out of here!"

"You said you're innocent. Why are you trying to run?"

"I…" she was breathing heavily, her lungs gasping for air after the lengthy chase, "I-I can't be in that cell anymore, okay? It's too small, a-and it feels like the walls are going to… close in on me or something."

"You're an idiot."

"I'm still smarter than you. I almost got away!"

She wasn't wrong, Javert knew, and he swore under his breath again, "I'll have to report this to my commanding officer."

"What? Why?" she exclaimed, "Look, you let me go before. Why can't you now?"

"Do you think this is a game?" he bit out suddenly, and she froze, stunned by the intensity with which he spoke, "This is not petty theft. This is not assault. This is_ murder_. You're an accomplice to murder. This is not a joke."

Her voice grew quieter, and she breathed out slowly, "I know that."

"Then stop acting stupid," he told her gruffly, and Éponine lowered her eyes.

"Fine. Just…" she shook her head, her heart still beating on the inside of her ribcage like it was trying to escape, "take me back, I guess."

He did so, and it was there she remained for the rest of the day. After a while, Javert left his post and was replaced by another guard, and when he did, she felt a strange kind of emptiness spread throughout her chest. It felt as though Javert was the only friend she had in this cold, unfriendly place, but she shook the thought away and laid down to try to sleep. A few other criminals made their way in and out of the cell with her, yet none lingered too long and not a soul spoke to her.

Just as the sun was beginning to be swallowed up by the towering city around them, one of the policeman came to fetch her and escorted Éponine to an interrogation room once more, where she found two of the prosecutors sitting. One of them was tall and slim, his face bony and his eyes squinty. The other was one of the fattest people she'd ever seen, and looked like he was about to burst out of his skin at any moment. Their gazes were cold, icy, and she almost shuddered, as if the temperature of the room had suddenly dropped ten degrees.

As soon as she was sitting down, they spoke the words she'd been praying to hear, "We're prepared to make you a deal, Miss Thénardier." Éponine shifted uncomfortably at the use of the word; she wasn't classy enough to be called a 'miss.' They didn't give her time to say anything, "If you agree to testify in court that your friend Montparnasse was the one who killed Gene Bishop_ and_ are able to successfully identify him from a lineup, we'll drop the charges against you."

The words echoed in her mind, but instead of comprehending the idea that she was being handed a literal 'get out of jail free' card, she could only hear the victim's name, and repeated it softly, "Gene Bishop."

They frowned, "Yes?"

"That was his name. Gene Bishop." She'd heard it mentioned in passing as they'd explained the details of the case to her, but now, it resounded clear and strong in her mind. That was his name, the man 'Parnasse had killed while she'd watched. Gene Bishop.

Éponine felt sick to her stomach. The men, meanwhile, were growing impatient, "Well? Yes or no?"

"Yes," she said numbly, agreeing without a second thought. Her tongue felt heavy and cold in her mouth, and it was a struggle to speak.

"Good."

With a nod, the two got to their feet, but just before they reached the door, her voice sounded out to stop them, "Did he have a family? Kids?"

The fat one nodded, looking unsure why she would want to know, "His…wife's name is Helen. She was out of town on the night of the murder. He had two daughters who are in college."

Éponine swallowed, guilt settling over her like a heavy cloud, and the two left without another word. Javert walked in all of a sudden and took hold of one of her arms, guiding her out the door and down the hall. Éponine wondered briefly why he was still here after so long, but she didn't dare say a word to him, and it was only when they arrived at the front door of the station that she turned around and dared to look him in the eyes.

He didn't return to gaze, however, and instead only reached down and unlocked the handcuffs they'd put her in during questioning.

As he did so, he recited monotonously, "You may not leave the state as the investigation proceeds. You will receive information about the date you are to testify in court, and if you fail to appear, you will be found and arrested, and your deal with the prosecutors will be voided. You may be taken in for further questioning at any time. Understand?"

Meekly, Éponine nodded and massaged her aching wrists. Then, she looked up at him with a crooked little grin, "Ever get bored of talking like a robot?" Javert gave her no reply, and she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, "So…I'm free to go?"

"Yes," Javert said, then lowered his voice, "Don't get yourself into trouble again. Listen to me this time."

"Yeah," she nodded, "I won't. I promise… this time."

Javert took a step toward the door then, holding it open for her and then walking out behind Éponine into the bitter winter air. It was snowing lightly, though the snowflakes melted the moment they hit the street and vanished into tiny puddles of water. After they were standing side by side on the sidewalk, he told her, "I'll hail a cab."

She scoffed as a snowflake landed on her face and made her wrinkle her nose, "I can't afford to pay some guy thirty bucks to drive me a few blocks. I'll just walk."

"It's cold," was all he said to that, his tone low and commanding, and for some reason, she knew not to argue with him. So she didn't, and she only folded her arms next to him with a look of contemplation on her face.

"Thanks," she said suddenly. Forgetting with whom she was speaking for a moment, Éponine reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm with a grin, "For…everything." Quickly, he moved away from her touch and scowled, unaccustomed to such close human contact as he was. As if she'd been expecting it, she rolled her eyes, "Come on, really? Cut the crap already!"

Javert's scowl grew menacingly deep, yet his eyes showed some measure of confusion, "What?"

"The whole 'I'm so mysterious and push everyone away' thing. I mean – smile for once. Let someone give you a hug. You really want to be an uptight prick for the rest of your life?"

"Maybe," he deadpanned, though her words rang true in his mind.

"Do you even have, like, _any_ friends?"

His answer was simple, "No."

Éponine folded her arms and raised her chin at him, "Well, now you do. I'm your friend."

"No," he said again, and she huffed.

"Yes, I am. I'm your friend. Admit it."

"I have no friends," he told her, and it was only after the words left his mouth that he realized how pathetic that sounded.

She told him as much, "That's pathetic. And stop being such a drama queen. I'm your_ friend_. Just say it."

"No."

"Yes!" she exclaimed, rather childishly.

He narrowed his eyes, "No."

"We're friends. That's final," she declared, and he only looked at her.

"That's not how it-" he began to protest, but gave up when he noticed a cab approaching. With another pointed glare at Éponine, he flagged it down and opened the door for her once it had pulled over to the curb. He handed the driver a few bills and told him to take her however far she needed to go, and keep the change. Upon hearing this, Éponine rolled the window down and looked up at Javert with raised eyebrows.

"That's what friends do, you know. Pay for friends' cabs."

Javert didn't say anything to that; he had nothing to say, as was the norm for him, and so he stayed silent like he always did, watching as she rolled the window back up with a smirk and rode off into the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

**IX**

* * *

The wet, sticky snow was falling far more heavily by the time Éponine made it back to her building that night, and she hurried inside quickly, eager to escape the bitter cold. Upon entering her family's apartment, she found it empty, with all the lights turned off and its only occupant the darkness. She knew her mom and dad were probably off getting drunk or high or a combination of the two, and it was a relief to be here without them for once. She didn't know where Azelma was, but she'd learned long ago not to worry too much about her if she disappeared for a night; usually she turned up the next day, happy as a clam after a sleepover at one of her friends' houses. That was where she and Azelma differed, she thought with a rueful grin. Azelma was a nice person. People liked Azelma. Azelma had _friends._

She didn't – not really – and in that instant, she realized that she wasn't any less pathetic than Javert.

Her stomach gave a voracious growl from inside her all of a sudden, and only then did she realize how hungry she really was after not eating for almost a day. Without bothering to turn on any of the lights, she stumbled over to the fridge in the darkness and pulled it open only to find it empty, save for a few pieces of lunchmeat that looked spoiled, two Cokes, and a plastic container filled with leftover macaroni and cheese. Since she didn't have any other appealing choices, she settled on the macaroni and cheese, and was about to retrieve a fork from a nearby drawer when a voice sounded out from the couch in front of the television, only feet away from her.

"Hello, 'Ponine."

She almost dropped the food in surprise and spun around to face the sound of Montparnasse's voice. She couldn't see his face, as he was cloaked by the shadows of the night, but even his voice was enough to startle her, and she exhaled in frustration.

However, her frustration quickly turned to trepidation, "Jesus Christ, 'Parnasse! What're you doing here? If the cops-"

"I'll be out the door if the cops come," he reassured her, his voice deep and smooth. She folded her arms and set aside her dinner with a sigh.

"Y-you shouldn't be here. You should be in fucking… Mexico or something! They want you for murder."

"So he's dead? That guy?"

"Yeah," she bit out, suddenly outraged by his nonchalance, "Dead. Because of you. You _killed _him!"

"Calm down. I mean, not like I haven't done it before." The revelation shouldn't disturb her, Éponine knew, as she'd long suspected that 'Parnasse had killed people before, but it shook her to the bone now in disgust. She shivered before she could help it.

"_Calm down_? This isn't just like robbery or some shit," she repeated Javert's words to her almost without realizing it, "This is_ murder_."

He ignored her, "Why'd they let you out so soon?"

"I told them what happened," she answered without thinking, "Made them a deal."

Even through the darkness, she could feel the atmosphere between them change, "What kind of deal?"

Éponine gulped, but refused to show him that she was afraid, "I'm gonna testify against you. Th-they'll drop the charges against me, they said."

"No, you won't," he chuckled. She furrowed her brow in confusion, and when he got to his feet, she began to back away from him slowly, as if out of instinct.

She scowled, "Yes, I will."

All at once, he lunged toward her, pulling a little knife out of his pocket, holding it at her throat, and pressing her up hard against the nearby wall, "_No_, you won't. Because if you do…" he brought his lips close to her ear and rasped, "I'll kill you, too."

Éponine began to sweat, and her heart sped up until she was almost dizzy from fear. No, this wasn't how she wanted her life to end. Sure, she didn't particularly like her life and the people in it, but she sure as hell didn't want to die, and it was with this in mind that she breathed, "Y-you wouldn't."

"Oh yeah," he chuckled, regarding the notion of her death as if it were no more important than the death of a fly, "I would."

"My dad'd kill you," she hissed, and Montparnasse only shook his head.

"Not before I'd kill him." He seemed to realize how close their bodies were to one another, and much to her disgust, she felt him start to grow hard against her leg. He noticed her revulsion and smirked, "C'mon. You've been cutting me off for weeks."

"Get off of me," she spat as she began to thrash about, trying to loosen his iron-like grip on her. It was futile, however, and her struggling only made him chuckle. His eyes glowed menacingly in the moonlight, like a predator who had captured its prey and was only seconds away from feasting on it, and he pinned her hands roughly behind her on the wall.

"Stop playing hard to get. I know you want me."

"Stop it!" she growled, but was cut off when he leaned in close and kissed her again, sliding his slimy tongue into her mouth and moaning. She recoiled in disgust and was quick to bite down hard on it, drawing blood and forcing him to pull away. Once he had released her, Éponine readied her hand, recalling everything Javert had taught her about throwing a good punch, and swung hard at his face, landing the hit with a loud _crack _that sent him tumbling to the ground. Éponine moved quickly after that, bending down and picking up his knife lest he decided to run her through with it too, and then brandishing it at him, her teeth barred and her eyes wild.

"Don't ever _fucking _touch me again," she bit out slowly, her anger terrifyingly quiet, but Montparnasse was too stunned and too stupid to be frightened.

"Bitch. I'll kill you for that."

She clenched her jaw and took a large, threatening step toward him, "Stay the hell away from me." He only dabbed at his bloody nose and sniffed, and when Éponine realized that he didn't intend to move, she raised her voice, "Get out. _Get out_!"

Like a scared little child, Montparnasse scrambled to his feet and vanished out the door within seconds. Once he was gone, Éponine let out a trembling breath, locked the door behind him, and closed her eyes, the knife in her hands suddenly feeling as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Her limbs felt numb and cold, the memories of the murder returning to her without warning, and she felt nausea roil in her stomach. She didn't know why she'd been so affected by it. She was a Thénardier; murder and crime were practically in her blood. Then why did she feel so sick? She shouldn't. It shouldn't faze her. Her father had certainly killed before, as had 'Parnasse and his other cronies. She'd seen a man die before, but now, every time she tried to play the murder off like it meant nothing, Javert's unsmiling face kept returning to her mind. His eyes were full of disappointment, and he looked as if he didn't even recognize her, like he'd looked last night when he'd questioned her. It was as if she was invisible to him, only another hood rat running around getting herself into trouble. He'd told her she was better than that, she thought, but maybe she'd already proved him wrong.

She was stirred from her thoughts by a sudden knock on the door, and when she heard it, her heart sank. She could only assume it was 'Parnasse, having returned to finish her off and keep her mouth shut, forever. She grappled for the knife on the floor and finally located it, then stalked over to the door with it in hand, ready to attack whoever was on the other side. With a deep breath, she swung it open and braced herself, only to find Azelma standing there with a smile on her face. It vanished quickly, however, and she threw her hands in front of her face with a cry of shock when she noticed the knife pointed at her.

Quickly, Éponine lowered the knife, and she sighed, "Shit. Sorry, 'Zelma."

"What was that for?" she demanded, sauntering inside and folding her arms.

"I…" Éponine drifted off, "I thought you were someone else."

"I saw 'Parnasse leaving with a bloody nose. What happened?"

"Nothing," she told her quietly as she lowered her eyes to look at the knife, its blade gleaming in the moonlight. She remembered how the cold metal had felt at her throat, and she shuddered, "Nothing happened."

"I don't think it was nothing."

"We…" Éponine sighed again, "Look, if I tell you, you have to keep your mouth shut, okay?" Her sister nodded, and so she began, "I-I went with 'Parnasse to break into a house on the other side of town. But...the guy who owned it was there, and he pulled a gun on 'Parnasse, and…" The words were gushing out of her mouth so quickly that she hardly had time to make them intelligible, "And 'Parnasse just stabbed him, like a _dumbass_, then ran away. A-and I tried to save him, but…it was too late. And the cops took me in, but said they'd let me go if I testified against him and identified him, and…" Éponine plodded over to the couch and fell down upon it, "'Parnasse got mad. Said he'd kill me if I did."

They were silent for a moment, and then, Azelma raised her eyebrows in surprise, "Wow."

"Yeah, I know. I'm fucked." She realized her error and hastened to correct herself, "I-I mean… I'm screwed."

Ever the smartass, Azelma cocked her head to one side, "No, you're fucked."

She rolled her eyes, "Thanks."

"Do you think he was serious? About killing you?"

"I don't know. Probably not. He's all talk." She paused, then added without thinking, "Javert'll take care of him."

She realized her mistake as soon as her sister's mouth fell agape, "_Javert_?"

"Yeah," she said dumbly, swearing under her breath, "He's my…um, friend."

"He's a _cop_!"

"Forget I even said anything. Nevermind."

Observant as she was, Azelma looked suspicious, "What, do you_ like _him or something?"

A blush crept onto her cheeks unbidden, and she found herself bewildered by it, "No! He's…old." But he didn't really look his age, even though his hair was mostly grey and his skin had a few wrinkles here and there. "A-and ugly." Javert couldn't be called conventionally handsome, that was true, but he most definitely wasn't ugly. The edges of his face were hard and sharp, his eyes cold – but he wasn't ugly. "He's probably… fat underneath his uniform." Now that was just a flat-out lie. His abs could speak for themselves. "No, I don't _like _him. Being friends with cops has advantages."

"Yeah. Uh huh," Azelma grinned, "Whatever you say."

Éponine scowled and watched as her sister walked off into their bedroom. She stayed up only long enough to eat her previously abandoned macaroni and cheese, and then followed her shortly after, falling into her bed like a lead weight and closing her eyes. Her exhaustion extended beyond her body; it was in her mind somehow, and suddenly, she found herself too tired even to think. The events of the past day were far too overwhelming to contemplate, and so she endeavored to think of nothing at all as she lay there, readying herself for sleep. Yet even though she tried, thoughts encroached on her mind even so, and strangely enough, the last thought she had before she gave herself over into the arms of unconsciousness was of Javert, of his deep, gravelly voice, of his scowl, of his terrifying, icy eyes that suddenly didn't seem very terrifying at all.

* * *

The next morning, as Éponine stepped outside her building to buy some much-needed groceries for her and Azelma, she found Javert standing beside the door, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes narrowed, as if he were on duty. Éponine gave him a weird look, but didn't say anything and only stalked by him, then frowned when she realized he was following her.

"_What_ do you want now?" she spun around and folded her arms.

"I'm assigned to monitor you, and make sure you don't try to leave the country. Or the state." She rolled her eyes and started to walk away again, but his voice boomed out after her, "Where are you going?"

Again, Éponine stopped, but this time she smirked at him, "You caught me. I'm going to the airport. Look." She pulled out the wad of five and ten dollar bills in her pocket, "Gonna buy a ticket for a flight to Paris with fifteen bucks."

He didn't seem to realize she was joking – or if he did, he didn't think it was funny, "Is that an admission you plan to flee the country?"

Éponine glared at him, "Do I _look_ like I'm planning to flee the country?"

"Where are you going?" he lengthened his stride and eventually caught up to her as she started walking again.

"The _store_. All we have to eat is two pieces of turkey and soda."

"I'll go with you."

She chortled, "What? Afraid I'll stow away in a food delivery truck?"

"You need protection. You're an important witness, and Gene Bishop was an important man. His family want to be sure you're kept safe so you can testify," he explained.

"Yeah, where were you last night then?" she bit out a dark chuckle. He scowled.

"What do you mean?"

"'Parnasse came by." As soon as the words left her mouth, his head jerked sideways to look at her.

"You should've called the police."

Éponine raised her eyebrows, "When was I supposed to do that? Before or after he was holding a knife to my throat and trying to rape me?"

A fire lit up in his eyes, and she thought that he looked angrier than she'd ever seen him before, "He threatened you."

She gave a sad sort of chuckle, "Now there's those deduction skills at work."

"Stop being a smartass," he stopped walking all of a sudden, and even though she didn't really want to, Éponine did as well, "What did he say?"

"Well, Inspector," she raised her chin and placed her hands on her hips, "As he was holding the knife to my neck and unzipping his pants, he said he'd kill me if I testified against him. And my dad, too, if he tried to stop him. Though…" she drifted off and flattened her lips into a line, "He'd kinda be doing the world a favor with that one."

"Did he do it?" Javert asked lowly, his eyes narrowed as he moved in closer to her. She noticed their increased proximity almost immediately, while he seemed unaware of it.

"What, rape me? No. I-I bit his tongue and punched him in the face."

"Did he say where he was going?" he demanded, raising his voice slightly in urgency.

"Well, his last words to me were, 'I'll kill you for that, bitch,' so, no."

Irritated by her continuous sarcastic remarks and the idea of Montparnasse out on the loose, he took her by the arm and hissed, "You're coming with me."

She felt her breath hitch briefly in her throat when he touched her, but she was quick to frown and struggle against his hold on her, "Huh? Where?"

"You'll be placed in the witness protection program until he is arrested."

"What? No! I don't want to be in the fucking witness protection program-"

He harrumphed, a deep, guttural sound from the back of his throat, "Would you rather be dead?"

"Who's gonna take care of Azelma?"

"Unless you can prove to child services that your mother and father are incompetent parents, she'll stay with them."

She finally succeeded in wrenching herself out of Javert's grasp and demanded, "Where am I going to go?"

He reluctantly resumed their walk, "You'll be placed in a safe house several hours out of the city, with protection 24/7."

They were silent for a moment, and then, she asked quietly, "Do I have a choice?"

Much to her surprise, he nodded, "By law, the program is voluntary. No one can force you into it." All at once, he stopped walking and turned to her, his mien grave and his words even graver, "But that boy is dangerous, Éponine. Next time he'll come with a gun, not a knife, and he'll kill you."

Éponine didn't even really hear his words; all she knew was that he had called her by her name. He'd called her Éponine. He'd never done that before, and it left her almost gaping at him. It was something strangely personal for someone like Javert to do, and she raised an eyebrow, "We on a first name basis now, Inspector?"

"No," he rasped, "Don't call me that."

"Okay._ Inspector_," she chirped, as she followed him over to his cruiser. Then, she tilted her head to one side, "What if 'Parnasse finds me at the safe house?"

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

Javert seemed irritated by her questions, "He _won't_." They were silent for a moment, and then, he told her, "Go back inside and pack. Bring only what you need."

She nodded and did so, hurrying to her room and leaving a hastily written note to Azelma that said something along the lines of 'I'll be back soon. Don't worry about me. Go stay with a friend for a while.' Then, she rushed into the bedroom, packing quietly so as to not wake her sister, who was slumbering peacefully in her bed. She threw a few extra shirts and pants into a pillowcase, along with another bra and several pairs of underwear. Éponine almost took her phone, but then decided against it; she'd seen shit tons of crime shows, and didn't know if Montparnasse could somehow triangulate her location based on cell tower data or something. She didn't honestly think he was that smart, but she decided it was better to be safe than sorry. Finally, she brought her GED practice book, intending to at least do something productive while she was secreted away in a safe house miles from society.

Then, having finished, she took one last look at Azelma and then hurried out the door, finding Javert still waiting by his cruiser, holding the passenger side door open for her.

Before getting in, Éponine looked him up and down, thought for a moment, and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat, "Who's gonna stay with me there? Some other cop?"

"No," was all he said. "I will."


	10. Chapter 10

**X**

* * *

"This is _it_?" Éponine asked, as she stepped inside the house and took in her dismal surroundings.

After bringing her back to the station and completing a few hours' worth of paperwork, they'd departed together in his cruiser to the assigned safe house south of the city. The drive had only lasted an hour and a half, yet to Éponine it'd seemed an eternity, and after a while, civilization thinned out, leaving behind only trees and the occasional patch of open land. The safe house was nestled on top of a hill deep in the woods, at the end of a rather windy, perilous gravel road. From the outside it looked tiny, more like a cabin than an actual house, and for a moment she wondered if it even had running water. Upon stepping inside, she found that its interior was tinier than it seemed from the outside. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust and spider webs, as if it hadn't been used in years, and the living room only had a tattered sofa, coffee table, and a television with an archaic-looking antenna sitting on top of it. The kitchenette was off to the side, with a mini fridge and stove, and as she explored, she found there was only one bedroom and one bathroom, both of which were cramped as well.

The bedroom only had one double bed, and the sight made a wicked shiver run up her back. She couldn't help but think about what that might mean.

Javert stepped inside the door behind her, switching on an old, flickering lamp and setting down his bag of belongings by the door, "Yes."

"Does this place even have running water?" she folded her arms and took a deep breath, almost sneezing when the dust in the air flew into her nose.

"Hopefully," he said. She rolled her eyes.

"What about food? Do we have any _food_?"

He picked up two bags of groceries and brought them into the kitchen, "These, and whatever has been provided."

"How long are we going to be here?" she demanded.

He exhaled sharply, slowly growing irritated with her persistent questions, "I don't know. A week. Two."

She could sense his rising frustration, and decided to goad him, "We're going to starve to death."

"We won't starve to death," he snapped.

Éponine folded her arms and turned to him with a grin, "Well then, Inspector. Looks like it's just you and me."

She appeared outwardly calm, yet she could feel her heart racing inside her chest, and her palms were sweaty as she contemplated the notion of spending two weeks – maybe even more – here alone with Javert, in the middle of the woods, miles from the nearest town. After a moment, Javert walked over to one of the windows and checked to see if it locked securely. This made Éponine furrow her brow, and she strolled over behind him with a frown.

"What're you doing?"

"Making sure the windows lock," he responded, as if it should be obvious. Her frown grew deeper.

"I thought you said no one could find us out here."

"I did," Javert answered, "This is only a precaution."

He turned around again and started to fiddle with the lock on the window, and as he did so, Éponine only watched in silence. Her cheeks were flushed red even though the cabin's heater only seemed to half-work, and she squirmed as she watched Javert, finding her eyes locked on him. Though she tried, she couldn't seem to look away, and before she could help it, Éponine realized she was shamelessly checking him out. Stop being _stupid_, she tried to tell herself. He's more than twice your age, and he's a cop, and what about Marius? He's nothing compared to Marius; not as handsome or as funny and certainly not as nice. He's an asshole. He hardly ever even says anything. And what did she think could ever really happen between them?

But it didn't work. Not at all.

Having finished his work, he turned around and began to walk toward the other window, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed that her eyes were on him. The moment Javert turned, the blush on her cheeks grew darker, and she fidgeted beneath the intensity of his gaze.

"What is it?" he asked lowly, seemingly unaware that she had been eyeing him.

"N-nothing," she stammered, then cleared her throat to steady her voice, "Nothing. It's… hot in here."

Javert himself was nearly shivering in the cold, but he said nothing of it and instead only returned to his work. A moment later, she removed her winter coat in the hopes that it would bring her some relief from the heat, yet it did nothing, and as she plopped herself down on the couch and turned on the television with a sigh, she found herself wondering what the hell she'd gotten herself into, agreeing to stay in this cabin with Javert for God knows how long.

* * *

For most of the day, she tried to make the cabin as livable as possible, sweeping off the dust and killing about two dozen spiders of varying sizes. Meanwhile, Javert unpacked their belongings, ensured every lock in the home was functional, and then finally, as night fell, settled down to make dinner with the few pots and pans they'd been provided.

Éponine, who was watching one of the four channels the television's antenna could pick up, looked over at him, "What's for dinner?"

"Spaghetti," he muttered. She scoffed.

"That all you can make?"

Javert didn't reply, but Éponine knew the answer; he didn't seem to be much of a chef. She turned off the television, got to her feet, and walked over to where he stood in the little kitchen, filling a pot with water from the sink, "Here. I'll help."

He shook his head, "I can do it."

"Fine," she sauntered over to the cupboard and pulled out a can of tomato sauce, "I'll cook the sauce."

"You don't-"

Éponine glared at him, "If I have to sit around watching infomercials for two weeks I'm going to kill myself. Just let me help."

Javert hesitated, thought for a moment, then finally acquiesced, "Fine."

Éponine went to work, pouring the sauce into a pan and heating it up over the stove. All the while, as she worked, she was almost overwhelmingly aware of her proximity to Javert, who was only inches away from her. Very quickly, she realized that she was sweating, though she told herself that it must be because of the steam rising from their food and the intense heat of the stove. They didn't speak to one another as they went about their work, and the silence between them was heavy, unbearable. Éponine wanted to fill it, to think of something to say to him, but she couldn't, and so she only kept her head lowered and her eyes on the food.

From time to time, she would glance over at him briefly, and when she did, she noticed his biceps peeking out from the sleeves of his shirt. She gulped, flushed even more, and forced herself to look away.

When she was sure the sauce had finished, she made a quick turn to the side to reach into the cupboards again, only to find herself colliding roughly with Javert, who had turned as well to set the table. Their chests hit another without warning, and in an instant, both grew completely still. His face hovered mere inches from hers, his breath hot on her cheek, and before she could control herself, her eyes widened in shock. She'd often wondered recently what it would be like to be so close to him, with her chest pressed up hard against his, and the sensation of his body so near hers was almost intoxicating. He smelled more like mint than he usually did, and Éponine thought for a moment she'd never smelled anything so alluring. Javert, too, had frozen the moment they had collided and now only looked down at her, his mien as impassive as it ever was and his ice-cold eyes taking her in without a word. Her cheeks were colored a deep shade of pink and her pupils were dilated with desire, her mouth slightly agape as she stared back at him. Javert felt an odd stirring deep inside himself, but he brushed it aside and tried to move away. He found that he couldn't, however, and it was only when he noticed that she was starting to lean into toward his lips that he finally remembered himself and stepped back.

"My apologies," he said, his voice steady and denoting not even a hint of his surprise, "I wasn't paying attention."

Éponine was quick to snap out of it and nod, bowing her head and fixing her eyes on the tomato sauce as it bubbled, "Yeah. Me either."

They sat down to their meal without a word, and after eating, Éponine walked off into the bedroom, exhausted and confused by the day's events. She changed into a simple shirt and sweatpants to sleep in, then crawled underneath the scratchy sheets and closed her eyes. Not more than half an hour later, however, she heard the door creak open, and she rolled over just in time to see Javert step inside. Yet he wasn't dressed for bed, and instead of making his way toward where she lay, he sat down on the windowsill beside the bed with one hand on his gun. Javert glanced over at her briefly, then lowered his eyes back to his pistol and pulled out a small cloth to clean it without a word.

"What're you doing?" she yawned and sat up slightly.

"Keeping watch."

"I thought you said-"

"As a precaution."

She flattened her lips into a line and shook her head, "Aren't you going to…you know, _sleep_?"

"No."

"You're just gonna stay there all night?"

"Yes."

Éponine was beginning to suspect that Javert actually was a robot, but she was too tired to formulate any more sarcastic remarks, and so she only shook her head and rolled over away from him so he couldn't see the flush on her cheeks that hadn't abated, but had only grown darker and darker. She was going to sleep here, with him watching her all night, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself the mischievous thought that she'd much rather have him here beside her in the bed. At that, she gulped and forced herself to close her eyes. Predictably, sleep didn't come easy, and it took almost an hour before the sound of Javert's breathing across the room lulled her troubled mind to sleep.

* * *

_They were back in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove as their dinner cooked._

_They were only inches away, their bodies pressed up hard against one another, so close that they could feel every twinge of every muscle inside the other. Éponine's heart was pounding inside her, her mouth hanging open dumbly, and before she could think to move away, suddenly, Javert was upon her, pulling her into him and capturing her lips with his roughly. She squeaked in surprise, but didn't even think of pulling away and instead placed one of her hands on the short, greying hair on his head. Quickly, she felt an insistent pulsing between her legs, followed by a rush of warmth that she knew could only mean one thing: she wanted him. She wanted this, and she could no longer deny it. Javert seemed to sense her arousal, and, his gaze cold and terrifying, he pulled her over to the little table in the kitchen, forcing her down into a sitting position on it and nearly ripping the shirt off her body._

_Éponine's mind was spinning, her body screaming for his touch, and when she felt him unclasp her bra and toss it aside, she let out a breathless laugh. This was crazy. This shouldn't be happening, but she had no intentions of stopping it now. With a sort of gentle roughness, he cupped both her breasts in his hands, toying with her nipples and making her curl her toes in delight. When he placed his mouth on one breast at last and sucked at it, the wetness between her legs became almost unbearable, and she moaned, rocking her hips in desperation. All the while, Javert remained silent, and his eyes gave no hint of what he was thinking. Éponine noticed suddenly that her jeans had vanished, and she was about to open her mouth to ask him what had happened to them when he moved his mouth back up to hers and growled, yanking her hard against him and feeling the softness of her breasts as they brushed up against his chest. Without warning, he moved his lips to her neck and kissed the tender flesh there savagely, prompting her to squirm and whimper in response._

"_Oh! Please…" her voice was airy and thin, "Please."_

_It was as if he hadn't even heard her, and after nearly an entire, torturous minute of his ministrations, Éponine was so wet that her juices had coated the inside of her thighs and nearly begun to drip on the table. _

"_Please!" she cried, more insistently this time, and he finally met her eyes with a scowl._

"_What do you want?" his voice was not taunting or seductive; he sounded angry, fearsome, and she shuddered as he reached up and brushed her hardened nipple again. She didn't say anything, paralyzed by terror and burning with desire, and he snarled, "Say it."_

"_Fuck… me." She could hardly recognize her voice as her own, "Fuck me…I want…I-I need…"_

_His face blank, Javert reached down between her legs and pressed his index finger into her. She was so wet that she coated it almost instantly in her juices, and a low, rumbling growl erupted from the back of his throat, when before he had remained almost totally silent. He traced the wetness upward and swirled it around her clit, lubricating it as well and sending a shudder through her. She bucked her hips again as if to draw his finger into her, but it was futile, and instead he continued to tease her, circling the digit around her quivering folds and listening without a word as she begged him for more, swearing under her breath and crying out desperately. _

_She sounded like she might actually perish if he didn't give her what she wanted, and so, agonizingly slowly, he pressed one of his fingers inside her again and curled it, adding a second shortly thereafter. She was sopping wet, fever-hot, and her body felt like it was on fire. He brought another finger up to caress her clit, and she felt herself rapidly building towards climax. But she didn't want just his fingers; she wanted him, inside her, all around her. She'd never wanted anyone like she wanted him in that instant, but he didn't quicken the movements of his fingers and kept them at an infuriatingly steady pace, sliding in and out until almost his whole hand was slick and covered in her wetness and she was writhing frantically on the table._

"_Harder!" she breathed, but he paid no attention. She was so unfulfilled that she thought she might go crazy if he didn't do something – _anything_ – and she bucked her hips again, whimpering and moaning and pleading for more. Yet it was as though he couldn't hear her, and there was no hint of emotion or mischief in his eyes. He only kept his fingers pumping in and out, stubborn and maddeningly steady._

_Then, all at once, he grabbed hold of her and lowered his face down near hers. Her cheeks were bright red, her lips parted as she moaned and her eyes glazed over with lust. He barred his teeth at her, "Say my name."_

_She moaned, obeying without hesitation, "Javert. God, please, just-" Another hoarse moan broke forth from her mouth before she could stifle it, "Javert!"_

_Then, suddenly, a peculiar smell drifted to her nose. Something was burning. Was it the food? She didn't know, but she was too far gone to care; she didn't even think she'd notice if the entire stove erupted into flames behind them._

"_Javert!"_

_Someone was shaking her roughly. Javert had disappeared. The burning smell was stronger. Her body was pounding, begging for release, and she called out his name again in desperation, "Javert?"_

_Someone was shaking her. Who was shaking-_

* * *

"Christ, what is it?"

Éponine flew up in bed, her forehead coated in sweat and an all too familiar wetness burning between her legs. Javert was standing beside her with his hand on her arm, shaking Éponine and frowning down at her, and immediately, her cheeks turned red. It didn't take her long to realize what had happened.

She'd had a wet dream. About _Javert._

She was almost ridiculously turned on, but forced herself to calm down and glance up at him, "W-what? What happened?"

"You said my name," he bit out, irritated, "Like you were in distress. I thought there was an intruder."

_Not distress_, Éponine thought, but she didn't dare say that.

"Yeah, um…" she exhaled slowly, "I had a bad dream. I was…falling. Yeah. Falling. You were there." Éponine sniffed and furrowed her brow, "What's burning?"

He scowled, "Breakfast."

With that, he turned and stalked away, leaving Éponine alone in bed, her heart beating and adrenaline rushing through her veins. It hadn't been real – none of it. Yet it had felt so real, his lips on hers, his fingers inside her, his breath on her cheek, and she realized, suddenly, that she _wanted_ it to have been real. She wanted him, Éponine thought, allowing herself to admit it freely for the first time. She wanted him now, today; the heat and dampness between her thighs spoke the truth, even if she tried to convince herself otherwise. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd been so horny, and if she didn't do something about it, she was sure she would explode.

Since Javert insisted on staying with her most of the time to ensure she was safe, she knew the only time she would truly be alone would be in the shower, and so she hopped out of bed and into the bedroom with all haste, ripping the clothes off her body and turning on the water. She made sure it was ice-cold before she stepped in, and the frigid droplets hit her like a thousand tiny daggers all at once. It didn't prove to be much of a buzzkill, however, and the pulsing between her legs was quickly becoming intolerable.

Frantically, she slipped a hand between her thighs, reaching up with the other to cup one of her breasts. She inhaled sharply and leaned back against the tiled wall, closing her eyes and picturing Javert's face before her. She imagined him here, imagined that it was his hand between her legs instead of hers, and the resulting rush of wetness nearly made her moan aloud, prompting her to bite down hard on her lower lip to keep quiet. She felt dirty doing this, touching herself and pretending it was him, but in that moment, she didn't care – at least not enough to stop. Her body was aflame with lust, her head pounding and her ears ringing. She was a ball of sexual tension, and she quickened her pace, curling her fingers inside herself and biting her tongue to keep from crying out. The water was freezing cold, beading on her breasts and erect nipples, but by now she didn't even feel it.

She came quickly, but the pleasure that raged through her felt empty, somehow, and brought her no real relief. She was crazy with want for him, mad with lust, and she hated herself for it. Éponine had never felt this way about Montparnasse, or even Marius. She'd never been so wildly attracted to someone in the way she was attracted to him. It frightened her, almost, she who had always been so strong and independent and eager to stand on her own.

After scrubbing herself clean rather halfheartedly, she stepped out of the shower and dressed herself. She found Javert standing in the kitchen, setting plates of half-burned eggs and bacon on the table.

Even though she was still wet for him and sweating, she managed to calm herself long enough to remark, "Something other than spaghetti. It's a miracle." She took a seat and poked at the charred eggs, "You burned it, but A for effort."

Éponine dug into the food quickly. She was hungry, of course, but her hunger wasn't for food. Every now and then as they ate, she would sneak a glance at Javert across the table, always finding that his eyes were locked on his plate. In that instant, she was desperate to know what he was thinking. Did he remember last night in the kitchen, when they'd been so close to one another – too close? Or had he forgotten it entirely? It hadn't been anything remarkable, she told herself. He'd probably forgotten. The thought discouraged her, but as she looked up at him again, she decided something.

She wanted him, and she was going to get what she wanted.

Just then, he gazed over at her as well, and told her gruffly, "I'll turn down the heat."

"What?" she furrowed her brow.

"You look warm," he observed.

"Oh, no," she said, allowing herself a mischievous little smile. "I'm fine."

* * *

**Note: **This story is now rated M, so if you're looking for it with the mature content filter on and can't find it, that'll be why.


	11. Chapter 11

**XI**

* * *

She started out subtly.

Well, as subtle as you could be while trying to seduce someone, at least.

On their third day in the middle of nowhere together, she woke up in the morning, dressed herself in only a long white t-shirt that reached several inches above the knee – with no underwear – and walked out into the living area. Javert had apparently chosen not to make breakfast and was instead eating a bowl of cereal at the table, flipping through a four-day-old newspaper idly as he chewed.

"No bacon?" she asked. Éponine almost grinned when she noticed his eyes linger a second too long on her bare legs, but he looked away quickly and shook his head.

"No."

"What about eggs?"

His response was clipped, "Fridge."

Knowing this was her opportunity, she sauntered over the fridge, which was only feet from where he sat, and opened the door, bending down to look inside and making sure her backside was fully visible to him. She pretended to rummage around for a moment, hoping to draw this eyes to her, then stood up and looked back at him, only to find that he didn't even appear to have looked up from his reading or seen the goods she was trying to put on display. Éponine rolled her eyes and walked over to one of the cupboards, bending down again and pulling it open.

This time, she made sure he'd at least look up, "Hey, where's the cereal?"

"Bottom…" he drifted off for a second. She smirked, knowing he'd seen, but he was quick to clear his throat and continue, "Bottom left."

Éponine rose and grinned, "Like what you see, Inspector?"

Javert seemed unsure how to respond for a moment, and so he did what he always did: he scowled. Then, he got to his feet and walked over to the sink without saying a word or looking her way. Éponine took a deep breath and, daringly, placed a hand on his arm, moving closer to Javert in the hopes she could entice him. He did not look her way, however, and kept quiet.

She rolled her eyes, "God, stop being such a prude. When _was_ the last time you got any, anyways?"

Still, he said nothing, and so she took a bold step toward him again, prompting him to step away and bite out, "You're just a child."

"No I'm not!" she scoffed, offended at first but quickly lowering her voice to a purr, "You saw it all. You know I'm not."

He rounded on her all at once, and demanded sharply, "What is it you want, then?"

_You,_ she wanted to say, but for some reason, the word stuck stubbornly in her throat. Her mouth opened and closed without articulating any words, and suddenly, Éponine felt like a stupid child, for doing what she'd done, for wanting him like she did. This wasn't like her; not at all, and Javert seemed to know it, too. She'd never tried so openly to flirt with anyone, but God, she wanted him. She couldn't help herself. He was terrifying, a mystery of a man, cold and silent and stoic – and she wanted him all the same.

After she hadn't spoke for almost a minute, Javert sneered, "I'm here to protect you. That is all."

With that, he was gone, leaving Éponine standing there alone, her cheeks hot with embarrassment and her heart pounding.

* * *

On the fourth day, she tried a more direct approach.

Javert was standing in front of one of the windows in the living room, staring out into the snowy hills with an unreadable expression on his face as he watched the sun set. Éponine had spent most of the day flipping idly through her GED study guide, trying to read but always finding that her mind wandered no matter how hard she tried to focus on the numbers and equations. From her position on the sofa, she found her eyes drifting toward him every few minutes, and eventually, she decided she couldn't stand it anymore. She shot to her feet, set aside her book, and stalked up to him, her arms folded and a petulant scowl on her face. She was both furious and hopelessly turned on, and she came to stand beside him, her eyes narrowed. He looked her way briefly, and she was quick to speak before he could move away.

"_Stop_ trying to push me away," she growled without warning, prompting him to turn fully and look at her.

"What?" he grunted.

"Drop the fucking act already! Behave like a normal human for once!" She lowered her voice all at once and moved closer to him, "I'm your _friend_. I want to be…I want…"

Not knowing what else to say, she stood on her tiptoes suddenly and kissed him, grabbing his shirt and yanking him closer to her. His lips were unresponsive beneath hers, but she continued her onslaught anyway, in the hopes she could awake some kind of lust inside the man who lived like a robot. A fire raged between her legs, insatiable and desperate, and the feeling of him so close to her only served to fuel it. Javert tensed all at once, however, and pulled away, unprepared for such intimacy, as it'd been years since he'd been so close to a woman. Éponine wanted him; that much was plain to see, for he could read her eyes as easily as he might read a book. Her pupils were dilated with want, her eyes wide, innocent yet mischievous. Exercising immense self-control, Javert took a step back before he could look at her anymore and resumed the same, ever-present frown on his face.

She wanted him to say something, but like always, he stayed silent, and she hated him for it, wanted to slap him and kick him and scream at him until he replied. But all he did was take one last look at her, his expression as unchanging as a statue, and turn away coldly, back toward the window. When she realized that he wasn't going to speak, Éponine deflated somewhat and walked away, defeated and thinking that, perhaps, she was just as ugly as she'd always believed herself to be. With a dejected sigh, she walked into the bathroom, closed and locked the door behind her, and looked into the old, dirty mirror above the sink.

Her hair was a mousy brown color, not pretty at all like every other girl's seemed to be. Her eyebrows were bushier than she'd like, and her features were thin, almost birdlike in a way. Her eyes were pretty enough – dark brown, so brown that they almost looked black – but they were probably the only part of her that was, she thought. She was too skinny, she knew. Her wrists were stick thin, her waist tiny, but her breasts were small and nicely rounded, she liked to think. Why didn't he want her? She didn't know, but then again, she wasn't exactly sure that he didn't. He'd never said he didn't; he'd only pushed her away, time and time again.

She would make him say it, she decided. She would make him look her in the eyes and say he didn't want her, because she'd never be able to believe it any other way.

Éponine didn't know what to think, and so, despairing, she placed her hands on the sink, leaned against it with a sigh, and bowed her head.

* * *

For two days, she moped around the house, hardly speaking at all to Javert and keeping mostly to herself. The atmosphere between them was awkward, tense, and they barely even exchanged passing glances as they went about their days, waiting for word about Montparnasse's arrest.

Then, one afternoon, she got her chance to act again.

Javert had mumbled something about going to take a shower, handed her his gun to use if anything happened while he was gone, and disappeared into the bathroom without another word. For a while she stayed where she was, watching television and flipping through a magazine as she listened to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. For days she'd been desperately wet between the legs, yearning for him and unable to find relief, and all at once, as she listened to the water in the distance, a wicked idea came to her.

She got up and scurried into the bathroom as well, closing the door quietly behind her and leaving Javert's gun outside. Then, she pulled off her shirt and wriggled her way out of her jeans, tossing them on the ground along with her bra and panties. Once she was naked, she crept toward the shower, listening to the hiss of the water and watching as steam rose above the curtain. Without allowing herself to hesitate, she peeled the curtain back, took a deep breath, and stepped inside behind Javert, who was facing away from her, toward the warm spray of the water. Sensing a change in the air, Javert turned, and he froze when he noticed her standing before him, as naked as the day she was born with tiny droplets of water clinging to her belly and breasts. His mouth felt dry suddenly, and she gave him a crooked little grin when she noticed how shocked he looked.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, but his voice seemed to have lost most of its power. Éponine wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she could see the faintest hint of desire in his eyes.

"You know what I'm doing," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. She moved closer to him and pressed her slick, naked body up against his. He didn't move away, not even when she leaned in and began placing light kisses on his neck.

"I'm supposed to be protecting you," he tried to growl, but it didn't sound nearly as angry as he wanted it to, "Not _having sex_ with you."

"You can't do both?"

"Stop it. This is… wrong." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, "Illegal."

"I'm eighteen," she murmured, "You know that."

Yes, he thought. She was right. He knew that, and his attempts to convince himself to stop were growing desperate at best.

"Tell me you don't want me," she breathed, "Tell me you don't want… this."

All at once, Javert realized that he couldn't.

Éponine looked up at him, her eyes narrowed with lust and strands of wet hair clinging to the sides of her face, and he felt his resolve weaken even further. He could feel himself starting to grow hard though he fought to control himself, and she noticed with a grin, taking hold of his erection and stroking it gently, as there were no barriers of clothing between them now; they were open, fully exposed, and there was nowhere to hide. Javert tensed and willed himself to pull away, but he lost almost all desire to stop when she placed her finger on his tip and caressed it agonizingly slowly.

He had wanted her, too, he thought. He had pushed the thought away and tried to bury it, but it'd returned without fail in recent days as they'd lived together in such close quarters. He'd told himself he was an old lecher, that it was disgusting and wrong for him to think of someone so young in that way, yet his desire had only grown as she'd started to chase after him. Her clumsy attempts at seduction had seemed anything but to Javert, and they'd tempted him more than he'd wanted to admit. It was wrong, he had told himself when she'd kissed him. This was wrong now. It was almost hilariously wrong, but somehow, Javert thought as her lips trailed languidly along his collarbone, he had never felt anything that seemed more right.

With a growl, he switched their positions and pushed her up hard against the cold, tiled wall behind them. He only looked at her for a long moment, as water spilled down the sides of his face and back. She was almost as soaked as he was by now, her lips parted and swollen from kissing him. Her breasts were small and pert, her nipples visibly hardened with lust and her chest heaving as she struggled for breath. The sight sent a rush of desire through him, and he kissed her hard on the lips, tangling one of his hands in her damp hair. He could feel her body pressed up against his, so young and supple and deliciously wet, and the last thoughts of stopping fled his mind. After sucking and biting at her neck for a moment, he pulled away and reached down between her legs, pressing one of his fingers into her opening and listening as she gasped and pleaded for more. She was hot and sopping wet, and not because of the shower water.

"Christ," he growled, her wet heat enveloping his finger and seeming almost to pull him into her. Only then did he truly understand how much she wanted him, and he held back a moan when he felt her place her hands on his hips and urge him to enter her. He was hard as a rock, almost painfully so, throbbing with need and aching for her, but before he made another move, he managed to make himself ask, "You're sure?"

"Yes!" The suddenness and desperation of her response almost surprised him. She threw her head back against the wall and moaned as the water rained down on them from above, "God yes!" When he didn't move, she whined and ground her hips against him again, "_Do it_."

"Protection," he muttered, remembering what was really important now. She shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut.

"'M on the pill," she panted, irritated by his refusal to continue, "God, just fucking do…"

She drifted off when she felt him take one of her legs and lift it, holding it to his side and leaving her wide open for him. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he moved closer to Éponine, placed one hand on her hip, and entered her suddenly. She let out a choked half-sob of pleasure, so overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside her that she almost came right then and there. He felt huge, bigger than any man she'd ever had before, and he was so thick around that he filled every inch of her. The sensation was heaven, and she placed her hands on his back and dug her fingernails into his skin as he thrust into her again, more roughly this time. She was so tight and wet and eager that he found it almost impossible to control himself, yet somehow he managed, and curled an arm around her, crushing her body even harder against his. He couldn't even recall the last time he'd been with a woman, but surely it'd never felt like this, and he had to fight not to reach his climax embarrassingly quickly.

"_More_," she cried wantonly, raking her nails across his back and squeezing her eyes closed as a surge of pleasure crashed down upon her.

It'd never been this good; not with anyone. She could hardly breathe, and was conscious of only the sound of her own heart thumping madly inside her. Javert remained almost totally silent as he fucked her, but would occasionally allow himself a growl or moan in a moment of weakness, and the sound made her shiver. She was fucking a cop, she thought hazily as her pleasure began to reach its peak. She was fucking the most terrifying man she'd ever met, and even now part of her was petrified. The mixture of pleasure and fear made her stomach feel oddly light, as if she was on a rollercoaster rolling down an enormous hill, into the unknown.

"Oh…" she moaned as he filled her almost to the point of pain, thrusting rougher and faster with every passing second. Yet no matter how much it hurt, the pleasure was too overwhelming for her to really notice any pain at all. They were both totally soaked now, their wet bodies entwined tightly like vines as the spray of water poured down on them. Sweat and water mixed on their skin, dripped down their faces, beaded on their naked flesh. Then, without warning, her orgasm hit, and she almost screamed as the pleasure shot through her, more intense than anything she'd ever felt. Moaning, she shook to pieces in his arms, her inner walls pulsing and fluttering deliciously around him. The sensation pushed him off the cliff as well, and he started to pull out just as his climax hit, thinking it would be best even though she'd said they were safe. Éponine, however, wrapped her leg around him tightly and shook her head.

"N-no," she stammered as she rode the waves of her orgasm, holding him firmly to her and refusing to let him pull out, as if they were ashamed of what they'd done. She wasn't ashamed; she needed to feel him touching the deepest, most intimate parts of her. Before he could stop himself, he met his peak as well, and came inside her with a long, rumbling growl. For a while, they stayed like that, holding each other close and breathing heavily as their climaxes waned and faded away.

After they'd recovered, Javert moved his face back slightly and looked at her. The shower water had grown cold, but neither of them seemed to notice in that instant, as they stared wordlessly into each other's eyes, water droplets tumbling down their arms and chests. Her breasts were pressed up tightly against his chest, and when she dared to look down at his body, she could see the toned muscles in his abdomen and arms, soaked and gleaming. Still, they did not speak, but suddenly, just before she was about to open her mouth, he was kissing her again, harder and more fiercely this time. Before she even registered what was happening, he entered her once more, yet now, there was no hesitation, no doubt, no inhibitions; there was only pure, unadulterated lust, and the force of his thrusts almost made her dizzy.

After they had finished for the second time, she led him out of the frigid water and dried the both of them off with towels. The air in the cabin was freezing cold as well, but being so close to Javert kept the chill off of her very effectively, and she didn't shiver even once. They almost fucked again on the bathroom counter, but he shook his head at the last second and led her into the bedroom instead. Once they were there, she pushed Javert down on the bed and climbed on top of him, wrapping her nimble legs around him and placing light kisses on his neck and chest. A rare moan broke forth from his mouth before he could stop it, as he felt her little hands explore the firmness of his chest and begin to wander farther and farther down.

Sometime later, as Éponine lay against his chest, sweaty and sleepy in the wake of their lovemaking, she reached over and pressed one of her hands to his, looking contemplatively at their fingers together and feeling his rough skin against hers. Then, she grinned and admitted, "That…was the best sex I've ever had."

Javert, however, had a frown on his face, "I was sent here to protect you. Not…violate you."

"Violate me?" she chortled, then lowered her voice to a raspy purr and began to lay tender kisses along his jawline, "If that's what being violated feels like…violate me again."

"I'm an officer of the law," Javert rasped, as if trying to remind himself of his duty, of the reason he was here, but this thoughts were growing clouded by lust once more, and each kiss she pressed to his skin sent a jolt of electricity through him.

"Stop talking," she muttered against his skin and climbed on top of him, her naked flesh entangled with his.

"This isn't-" he began, but she silenced him with a glare.

"Just shut _up_," she rolled her eyes, straddling him and running a hand along his toned stomach.

And, only seconds later, as he watched her lower herself onto his cock and take him inside her, his complaints and objections were stolen right off his tongue, and she rode him until all the words in his mouth had vanished.


	12. Chapter 12

**XII**

* * *

Over the next few days, Éponine lost track of how many times they made love.

They did it in the shower, in bed, on the couch, on the floor, even on the counter. The dusty little cabin suddenly seemed like heaven on earth to her, and even if they'd wanted to, neither Éponine nor Javert could seem to stay away for more than a few hours, as there was nothing to do but each other.

It was early afternoon more than a week after their arrival, and Javert was seated on the sofa, sorting through paperwork and attempting to be at least somewhat productive during his absence from work. Just as he'd managed to focus, however, he felt a pair of thin arms curl themselves around his neck from behind. Éponine's hair brushed against his cheek, and she began to lay soft, taunting kisses on his neck. He stifled a groan and tried to continue his work, but quickly found he was unable to concentrate, when her lips proved to be such a sweet distraction.

"I'm trying to work," he uttered, though not very believably.

"Do you have to do that _right now_?"

"Yes," he growled, but Éponine heard _No_.

"Take a break," she urged, "C'mon."

"Éponine…"

Quickly, she circled around the couch and came to stand before him. Then, with a defiant look in her eyes, she ripped the papers right out of his hands and tossed them carelessly onto the floor. Éponine straddled him with a grin, and urged him to place his hands on her hips, unbuttoning the top half of his shirt and sucking at his collarbone.

"I have to work," he hissed, rather half-heartedly.

"You're a workaholic," she murmured in his ear, "Just let someone else do it for you."

"If I don't do it," he said, "it'll never be done righ-."

He was about to continue when Éponine kissed him hard on the mouth, stealing the words right off his tongue. The moment she felt him begin to grow hard against her leg, she knew she had won, and so she broke away and smiled triumphantly.

"'Parnasse always used to say, 'Fuck the police,'" she pulled her shirt over her head with a chuckle and returned her lips to his, "Don't think this is what he meant."

A while later, as they lay on the sofa in each other's arms with Éponine naked and Javert only wearing his pants, she rested her head on his shoulder and smiled sleepily, tracing circles idly on his chest and listening to the peaceful sound of his breathing.

"Let's never go back," she said suddenly, as thoughts of their lives back in Chicago returned to her mind, "Let's just… stay here, in this cabin. Forever."

Ever the realist, he frowned, "We can't."

"Yes we can," she raised her head to look at him, "We'd only have to go into town if we needed food and stuff. We could live in this place; it'd be cheap to rent. And you could get a job as a cop down here. W-we don't have to go back." She leaned her forehead against his and muttered sadly, "Don't make me go back."

"It'll be a week," he told Éponine, "Maybe more, before they find him."

"A week," she scoffed, "'S not long enough. My dad…" Éponine closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest, "He'll kill me if he finds out about this. And you, too. A-and 'Parnasse-"

Without warning, Javert flipped their positions and looked Éponine square in the eyes, his voice deep and sending a shudder through her, "No more about them."

His face blank, Javert trailed his lips down the valley between her breasts and brushed them across her belly, eliciting a laugh from her. It died quickly, however, when she felt him venture lower and lower, until he reached the inside of her thighs and looked up at her, pausing dangerously close to her sex. Then, before she could react, he enveloped her in a deep kiss there, and placed one of his hands on her leg, holding it to the side and spreading her wide for him.

"Jesus," she moaned, gnawing on her lower lip and curling her toes as his tongue worked.

His tongue was lapping her up as though she were sweeter than the ambrosia of the gods, and when she glanced down at him, she could see that he was looking back, watching her contently as she panted and writhed in pleasure. Eventually, not knowing where else to place her hands, she grabbed onto the couch cushion below her and held on to it for dear life until her knuckles grew white. She arched into his mouth and threw her head back, an endless stream of nonsensical exclamations and cries leaving her mouth. In almost no time at all, she could feel herself rapidly approaching her climax, and she was overcome by sensation, the sensation of him licking at her folds, eating her up as if he was a starving man and she was the first food he'd had in weeks.

He removed his tongue from her sex then, and instead placed his lips only upon her clit, knowing well it would push her off the precipice of pleasure upon which she was so precariously teetering. At once, fire raged white-hot between her legs, radiating out from her sensitive bud and forcing her body to erupt into orgasm at last, the ecstasy too much for her to bear. She shook and shuddered as the waves of pleasure overcame her, and after they had ebbed, he pulled away and got to his feet, reaching for his discarded shirt on the ground and beginning to pull it on.

Éponine, meanwhile, sat up and grinned stupidly, her head still spinning, "How'd you get so good at that?"

"Practice," he deadpanned. She chortled and leaned back against the sofa, still fully nude.

"All 'Parnasse ever did was finger-bang me. Said real men didn't go down on their girlfriends."

He stopped what he was doing and frowned, "You were… involved, with him?"

"_Involved_?" She rolled her eyes at the word and got to her feet, pulling on her red sweatpants and reaching for her bra, "We had sex when we were bored. I didn't have anywhere else to go." She noticed Javert looking at her through narrowed eyes, and she smiled, strolling over to him and throwing her arms around his neck, "Jealous?"

"No."

"I'm here with you." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, pulling away after a moment, "I wouldn't be if I still wanted him. And anyway," she walked over to her shirt, which had been flung onto the coffee table, "he's probably gonna get the electric chair. Whatever. I don't want to talk about him anymore."

After dressing himself, Javert sat back down and attempted to continue to work, and Éponine was quick to sit next to him and drape her legs over his lap as he sorted through papers. They were quiet for a while as he worked, but Éponine quickly grew bored with the silence.

"What's your story, Inspector?"

"I've told you my story."

"Tell me something I don't know."

He frowned and picked up his pen, "Like what?"

Éponine thought for a moment, then sat up slightly and declared, "Let's play a game. I ask you a question, you ask me a question. You have to answer. And no lying."

Javert clenched his jaw, but acquiesced, "Fine."

"When was the last time you slept with somebody?" she asked point-blank.

He looked up, his face blank and giving no hint of what he was thinking, "Years ago."

"Was it like…a girlfriend? Fiancé? Hooker?"

"My turn, now," he bit out. She raised her eyebrows in surprise and nodded.

"Okay. Go."

He didn't even stop to think, appearing to already know exactly what he wanted to ask. "Why did you join me in the shower?"

"Why? Isn't it obvious?" she laughed, but grew solemn when she noticed that he was looking at her unsmilingly, "I-I don't know. Well, I mean…I know, but-"

"No lying," he reminded her gruffly, and she flattened her lips into a line and fidgeted.

"I had a… dream about you," she said quickly, forcing the words out all at once.

He looked up from his paperwork, then, and set it aside, turning slightly to look at her, "What kind of dream?"

"A…" she drifted off, blushing fiercely in a way she hadn't done in years, "You were…"

He narrowed his eyes, seeming to sense where this was going, "I was what?"

She paused, took a deep breath, then looked him in the eyes and said, "You were fucking me on the kitchen table, okay? It was a sex dream. I…" she noticed that his eyes seemed to have become blackened with lust, and she gulped, her heart rate picking up, "What?"

He shifted himself over to her and growled, "Care to recreate it?"

Javert placed his lips upon her neck and sucked at her pulse point. She laughed breathlessly, "What about the game?"

"We'll continue," he rasped, as he kissed her hard and urged her to wrap her legs around him. Without warning, he stood and pulled her up along with him, his mouth never leaving hers as they stumbled over to the kitchen table. Once he'd sat her down on it, he set about pulling her shirt off again, and she laughed as she watched him fling it aside.

"I just put that on-"

He silenced her with a kiss, and before she knew it, her pants had disappeared as well, as had his shirt. Éponine thought for a moment that they'd barely even put their clothes back on before they were on the floor again, and she chuckled lowly against his lips. Her laughing was silenced, however, when she felt him bring his hand to her bare breasts and caress one of her nipples. She was getting wet again; she could feel her body giving itself over to the most primal urges once more.

"What happened in the dream?" he demanded, continuing the game even though Éponine would rather have his mouth occupied by other things. When she gave no reply but a strained moan, he growled, "Answer me."

"Y-you were…" she paused to steady her voice, "You had your fingers-"

He buried them between her legs, eliciting a moan from her, "Here?"

"Y-yes. Oh!" she gasped when he thrust them inside her again and tipped her head back, so wet that she nearly coated his fingers completely.

His voice was deep, throaty when he spoke, and only made her wetter, "What was I doing?"

"P-pushing in and out. I…" her eyelids fluttered shut.

He spoke calmly and evenly, appearing as if he enjoyed making her squirm, "How?"

"Hard…" He responded with a short, sharp thrust, and she panted, "Harder!"

He was bringing her close, dipping his fingers inside yet always pulling them out, stemming the flow of her ecstasy just before it could begin. She was panting hard, her skin flushed and sweat beading on her forehead. He entered her again, and curled his fingers this time, pushing her only inches from her climax. They'd only been there for a minute, and already she was about to come, hanging on to the edge of a cliff with just one finger. It felt as if he was extending a drink of water to her in the desert, holding it just out of her reach, so close that she could almost feel the cool liquid on her lips, and it was torture.

And then, as if he could sense her desperation, he thrust two fingers inside her roughly, and that was it; she was about to come, she was so close, so close –

"What the fuck, 'Ponine?"

A low voice sounded out from across the room, and their heads snapped toward it in shock, only to find Montparnasse standing there, near the door. His eyes were wide with shock, and though he had a gun in his hand, it hung limply at his side, as if he'd forgotten his purpose entirely upon seeing them together. Éponine shrieked and darted to her feet, and Javert composed himself quickly, standing up straight and readying himself for a fight.

"Not one more step, boy," Javert ordered gruffly, but it was as though Montparnasse hadn't even heard him.

He looked at Éponine, his mouth agape, "You're fucking _him_? You fucking bitch-"

Rather stupidly, Montparnasse charged toward Javert with rage in his eyes, and Javert was quick to disarm him, toss the gun aside, and throw him roughly to the ground as if he weighed little more than a feather. Éponine, meanwhile, pulled on her pants and stood back, struggling to comprehend the events of the past minute.

"Get my handcuffs," Javert told her, as he held the shouting and kicking Montparnasse to the ground.

"Get the fuck off of me! I'll fucking kill you, you piece of shit-"

Éponine retrieved his handcuffs and held them out to him, watching in silence as he locked Montparnasse's wrists together and yanked him to his feet. Stunned and fuming, Montparnasse could only follow as Javert pulled him outside and threw him in the back of his cruiser. Once he had done that, Javert stepped back inside and approached the shaking Éponine, who by now had dressed herself and stood in the living room.

"I'm taking him into town. Stay here, and lock all the doors. I don't know when I'll be back."

Wordlessly, she nodded, and walked out the door behind him when he left, watching in silence as his squad car started forward and disappeared slowly down the hill.

* * *

When Javert returned, it was almost midnight, and Éponine had fallen asleep on the couch waiting up for him. The sound of the door opening woke her, however, and when she looked over at Javert, she noticed that he looked just as exhausted as she was. Her step heavy, she got up and walked over to Javert, looping her arms around the back of his neck and leaning into him.

They stayed like that for a while, and eventually, she looked up at him, "Well?"

"We leave tomorrow morning. It's been determined that you are safe now, with Montparnasse in custody, and no longer need protection."

Éponine nodded sadly and pressed her lips into a line; she'd expected nothing less. After a moment, she managed a tiny grin, "But…we still have tonight."

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, though it was slow, and more intimate a kiss than they'd shared before. Eventually she led him into the bedroom and straddled him on the bed, but they both found quickly that they were far too tired to enjoy sex, now. Sensing this, Javert nudged her gently off of him, and Éponine instead snuggled up beside him.

"Not feeling it?" she inquired softly. He shook his head.

"We have to leave by seven. We should sleep," Javert informed her, as he reached over and switched off the light.

She nodded and laid her head on his chest, and for a while, they stayed like that, together in the stillness of the night. Her eyelids were droopy with exhaustion, as were his, yet for some reason sleep refused to come to either of them.

After a while, she spoke up, "You awake?"

There was a pause. Then, "Yes."

"I wanted…I…" she drifted off, unsure how to phrase what she wanted to say, "Are we together?" He didn't answer, and she chewed her bottom lip, "I don't know what you think I'm like. But I don't just…sleep with somebody and not have it mean anything." Javert didn't seem to know what to say, and so, like always, he said nothing. After a while, she sighed, "Nevermind."

She rolled over so that her back was facing him, and once she had, he uttered gruffly, "Is that what you want?"

Éponine turned to look at him, "What?"

"A label." He said the word with a frown.

She shook her head, "No. I don't want that." She lowered her eyes, then moved back over to him and pressed her forehead up against his, "I want you. That's… all I know."

Gently, she kissed him, nothing more than a light brush of her lips against his, then pulled away and gave him a little smile. She couldn't tell what he was thinking – she never could – yet for a moment she thought that she saw a little flicker of contentment in his eyes; something she'd never seen before. After a moment, she rested her heavy head on his chest and closed her eyes with a sigh. She muttered a few more unintelligible words before falling silent, and when Javert felt her breathing even out, he knew she had fallen asleep. Shortly thereafter, he followed her in slumber, and they stayed like that for the rest of the night, enfolded in each other's arms and hidden away from the world.

* * *

At promptly seven o' clock in the morning, they set out.

Sorrowfully, Éponine looked back at the tiny cabin as they drove away, wishing for all that she was that they could stay there and forget their lives back in the city. But she knew how it had to be, and so she tore her eyes away from it and fixed them on the long road before them, as they drove back toward civilization and pulled out onto the highway just as the sun began to rise.

For a while they drove on in silence, with Javert's eyes focused on the road and Éponine peering out the window, examining the billboards and signs as they passed by. After a while, she looked over at Javert out of the corner of her eye, and a mischievous thought came to her. With a smirk, she sat up, and slowly inched her hand toward Javert, who was an exceptionally focused driver and scarcely ever looked away from the road. It was only when he felt Éponine unzip his pants and slip her hand inside that he looked over at her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"What are you-" Javert stopped the moment he felt her begin to stroke him. Éponine wasn't looking at him; instead, she was looking straight ahead with a playful smirk on her face, and he clenched his jaw, feeling himself begin to grow hard as her little hand worked.

"I'm _driving_," he spat, in a weak attempt to discourage her. When Éponine gave his cock a firm squeeze, however, he knew she was not discouraged at all.

"So?" she looked over at him and raised an eyebrow, "Keep driving."

"Not while you're-" he clenched his jaw and bit back a groan. Then, without warning, Éponine unbuckled her seatbelt, leaned over, and positioned her mouth just above his groin, laying gentle, taunting kisses there. Before he could protest or pull her off, she'd freed his erection from his pants and wrapped her lips around it, moaning softly as she took him into her mouth.

He grunted and tried to control himself, but the feeling of her wet mouth on him was heaven, and it was almost impossible for him to focus on the road. With sweat beading on his forehead, he ground his teeth together and bit out, "_Stop_."

Surprised at his vehemence, Éponine stopped and glanced up at him, and one look at her – her dilated pupils, her swollen, wet lips, her flushed cheeks – was enough to make him give in. At the mercy of Éponine and her mouth now, he growled, "Don't stop."

She wriggled her eyebrows, licked her lips, and took him into her mouth again, swirling her tongue around his length and eventually circling it around the tip as well, driving him mad. Javert was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles had gone pale, and his body was on fire, his mind numbed by pleasure. The road ahead of him looked blurry, and it was a struggle to drive in a straight line with Éponine's head between his legs, her hot, wet mouth enveloping nearly all of him at once. He wanted nothing more than to pull over to the side of the road and fuck her senseless, yet Éponine seemed to enjoy watching him squirm under her ministrations.

She pulled away for a moment and looked up at him, a wicked sparkle in her eyes, "Keep your eyes on the road, Inspector."

"Éponine…" her name broke forth from his mouth before he could stop it, and he nearly swerved into oncoming traffic when she dipped her head back down and continued.

He was close; he could feel it, and his self-control was fast slipping away from him. Quickly, Javert jerked the wheel to the left and guided the car to the side of the highway, putting it in park and grabbing a handful of her hair as she brought him to his climax. Sensing he was close, she hummed lowly, and the soft vibration of her voice on his cock pushed him over the edge at last. He came inside her mouth with a guttural moan, as he threaded his fingers through her dark hair and held her head firmly to him. She swallowed his seed with a little grin, drinking it down and milking him for every last drop, and his head fell back against the headrest as he rode the waves of his orgasm with her sweet mouth still on him.

Once his climax had subsided, Éponine pulled away, zipped up his pants again, and climbed onto his lap, kissing him hard on the mouth and letting him taste himself on her tongue. Then, she broke away and gave him a taunting smile, "You still okay to drive?"

* * *

Shortly afterward, as they resumed their travels, Éponine drifted off to sleep, her cheek pressed up against the passenger side window.

Just as they pulled off onto their exit on the highway and approached the towering Chicago skyscrapers, Javert shook her gently and woke her from her slumber. She blinked a few times and yawned, taking in her surroundings and frowning once she noticed where they were.

"We're almost there," he informed her dryly, and she nodded grimly. For a long moment, silence reigned over them.

"I'm glad you were there with me," she said all of a sudden. Javert looked over at her briefly, then just as quickly looked away and back to the road.

It was silent for a moment save for the sound of the traffic around them, and then, he told her, "So am I."

At that, Éponine grinned and rested her head lightly on his arm, looking on in silence as the city rose up around them.


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII**

* * *

A few hours later, Javert escorted Éponine to the police station once again to identify Montparnasse, who had been transported back to the city as well. She found it pointless and complained the whole drive there, but Javert explained that it was only protocol and continued on nonetheless. Once there, he took her to a small room with the two prosecutors from before and a one-way mirror, and upon peering into it, Éponine found a line of men standing there against the wall, with Montparnasse in the middle, scruffy and greasy with a scowl on his face.

Hardly a second later, she folded her arms and rolled her eyes, "That one. The one in the middle. That's Montparnasse."

The fat lawyer stepped forward, "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she snapped, irritable and tried from the drive, "Can I go now?"

The man nodded, and she was about to turn and leave when she caught another glimpse of Montparnasse, dirty and all hunched in on himself. She bit her lip and turned to one of the lawyers suddenly, just as they were beginning to leave, "Wait. Can I…talk to him?"

The man shook his head, "Not by yourself. You might share information on the case, and we can't risk that."

"I'll accompany her."

Javert's deep, distinctive voice sounded out from behind her suddenly, and she glanced back at him in surprise. Their eyes met across the room for a moment, and when memories of their time in the cabin together returned to her, Éponine fidgeted. Unaware of this, the prosecutor hesitated, but eventually nodded and acquiesced.

"All right. Go. No more than ten minutes, officer."

Éponine followed Javert out the door, and once they were alone in the hallway, he looked at her again and frowned as they walked, "What do you have to say to him?"

"Remember what I said?" she raised her eyebrows, "I don't sleep with a guy unless it means something."

"You still have…" he drifted off, as if attempting to find the right word, "affection for that boy?"

She stopped suddenly and turned to him, a playful smile tugging at her lips, "What would you do if I did?" Javert didn't say anything, but somehow, Éponine knew exactly what he was thinking, and took a step toward him until his face was only inches from hers. She lowered her voice, "Would you drag me into the bedroom? Make me promise I'm yours? Fuck me until I couldn't walk in the morning?" All at once, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer to her, abruptly growing serious, "I don't want Montparnasse. I'm a one-man kind of girl." She tilted her head to one side and released him, "And you're my man."

With that, she continued on down the hallway, and he followed after a moment, stopping once they'd reached their destination and unlocking the door to the interrogation room in which they'd put Montparnasse. He opened the door and stepped aside, letting Éponine in first and then closing the door behind them. Once he was done, he took his place in the back of the room and watched in silence as Éponine approached the table at which Montparnasse sat, taking a seat and eyeing him warily.

Montparnasse looked even grimier than usual, and his mop of dark hair was greasy, as if he hadn't washed it in days. When he looked up at her, his eyes flashed with hatred, his handsome face curling into a hideous snarl.

"_You_," he spat, attempting to rise to his feet but finding himself held back by his handcuffs, which had been locked onto the chair, "You fucking bitch!"

"Watch your tongue, boy," Javert ordered. Montparnasse appeared almost as if he was about to boil over with rage.

He looked back to Éponine, "You're fucking _him_? _Javert_? You slut-"

"Yeah," she admitted with a shrug, "I'm fucking him. He's better in bed than you ever were."

If he had been prone to laughter, Javert would've laughed in that instant, but since he wasn't he remained silent and only watched Montparnasse as he seethed with rage.

"What do you want?" he said through his teeth, "You got what you wanted. I'm fucked, going away for life. You win."

"How did you find me?" she asked without hesitation. Montparnasse grinned an infuriating little grin.

"That's for me to know, and you to never find out. Why do you care?"

"Am I safe?" she demanded.

He chuckled and leaned forward, "As long as I'm alive, you'll never be safe, 'Ponine. But hey." He reclined in his chair again and folded his arms, "I'll let it go if we get hitched. If we do it before they lock me up I can get conjugal visits."

He wriggled his eyebrows at that, and she made a guttural sound of disgust, "Fuck off."

They were quiet for a moment, and then, Montparnasse narrowed his eyes, "You ever think of me when he's fucking you? No? What about… _Marius_?" At that mention of Marius's name, she tensed, and across the room, Javert could feel the atmosphere change. Éponine gulped and took a breath, preparing to reply, but Montparnasse continued, this time looking over at Javert, "You don't know about Marius, _officer_? That's who she really dampens her panties for." Montparnasse smirked again, "You'll fuck her a few times, sure. Like I did. But she always runs back to that son of a bitch." He made a clicking sound with his mouth and shook his head, sitting up straight, "Can you tell them to come get me or something? I'm hungry."

Quickly, Éponine shot to her feet, resisted the urge to slap him, and stormed out of the room. After glaring pointedly at Montparnasse, Javert left as well and followed Éponine, who was already halfway down the hall and heading toward the exit. He followed her out the back door and into the frigid cold, finding that it had begun to snow heavily in the time since they'd arrived. She stood with her back to him on the sidewalk, her arms folded as she trembled, clad in only a long-sleeved, black t-shirt and her tattered jeans. Javert frowned, thought for a moment, and then removed his own long, black coat, draping it around her without a word and then coming to stand by her side. Éponine looked over at him, her brown eyes wide and unsure as flakes of snow landed on her hair and melted on her eyelashes.

Éponine could see the look in his eyes – as if he wanted to ask her something but didn't know how to put it – and so she did it for him, "You want to know about Marius?" She didn't give him a chance to answer, "We were never together. He's in college. Thinks I'm in college, too. He was the only halfway decent guy to ever look at me twice, until…" She drifted off and met his eyes, "Until you." She shook her head and released a breath, watching as it rose into the sky. Abruptly, she turned to him, "I haven't thought about him in a while. Maybe I still…like him; I'm not sure. He's with somebody else. But if you must know…" she moved closer to him, not caring if anyone saw, "When you're fucking me I don't think about anybody else."

Éponine couldn't tell what he was thinking, but his eyes no longer held suspicion, and she grinned, backing away and licking her lips, "Take me home. I'm tired."

He did so, leading her to his car and driving them back to their building in a matter of minutes. Once they were there, they stepped out and ascended the stairs – and Éponine was about to ascend an additional flight to her family's apartment when Javert's voice stopped her three steps up.

"Where are you going?"

She gave him a strange look, "Home."

"You're not going back there," he told her simply as he unlocked and opened the door to his apartment, holding it open for Éponine, "You're staying here."

* * *

Two days later, as Javert was sitting at his desk sorting idly through stacks of paperwork, he felt his phone vibrate lightly in his pocket. He frowned, as he scarcely ever received messages, and pulled it out, flipping the old thing open and frowning in confusion when he read what it said.

_1 New Message From: Unknown_

_-What're u doingg?_

After glancing furtively around to make sure his superiors were nowhere in sight, he typed a response.

_-Who is this?_

_-Éponine_

He paused, not knowing how to reply, but before he could, another message appeared.

_-What're u doooing?_

_-Working_

_-Working how_

Javert nearly rolled his eyes and clumsily typed an answer, his thick fingers struggling with the little keys.

_-Desk duty_

_-Sooo…you have time_

Immediately, he was suspicious.

_-Time for what?_

There was a pause. Then, his phone buzzed again.

_-What're u wearing?_

He narrowed his eyes.

_-Why?_

_-Just tell me _

_-My uniform_

_-Good. ur uniform turns me on_

His eyes widened somewhat at that. He looked around again, and noticed that his partner, Stanford, had taken a seat at the desk beside him. Knowing how nosy the man was, Javert angled the phone away from him.

_-What are you doing?_

_-Sexting u._

Javert quickly determined this was lingo unfamiliar to him, and furrowed his brow in confusion.

_-Sexting?_

_-Yeah. like sexy texting_

His mouth suddenly felt dry.

_-I can't do that. I'm at work_

_-Ur such a prude. Send nudess!_

_-I'm putting my phone away_

True to his word, Javert set it on his desk and returned to his paperwork. Yet when it went off again only a minute later, he found himself unable to fight off his curiosity, and he reached for it, flipping it open and finding himself encountered with an alert he didn't recognize, as well as another message.

_-Wait! Don't. Let me convince u_

Then:

_1 New Picture Message From: Unknown_

Hesitantly, Javert opened it, and when he did, he clenched his jaw and tensed.

It was a picture of Éponine, lying on what appeared to be his bed, her dark hair splayed around her head and her breasts bare. She had a taunting look on her face, her eyes narrowed with desire, and Javert was so taken aback by the sight that he snapped his phone shut almost instantly, looking around hastily to ensure no one had seen. Once he had determined that it was safe, however, he dared to open the phone again and bring up her picture, only to be interrupted by yet another message.

_-U like?_

_-I'm at work. I could get fired._

_-Ooo proper grammar turns me on talk more_

_-Éponine_

_-Tell me what u'll do to me when u get home_

_-Must we do this now?_

_-Yes._

He didn't respond, prompting her to egg him on.

_-Come on. What will u do to me once u get home?_

Still, he didn't type a reply. Again, his phone vibrated.

_-I'll be naked on the bed, waiting for u_

Giving in, Javert took a breath and tried to play along.

_-I'll kiss you_

_-Boring. u'll fuck me with your fingers_

_-That too_

_-Mmmm I'm getting wet just thinking about it_

Javert shifted awkwardly in his office chair, his cock twitching in his pants. Éponine continued.

_-I'll climb on top and ride u hard. for hours. but then u'll flip positions, push me down _

Slightly overwhelmed by the image of Éponine straddling him, he didn't answer, and again, she was forced to prompt him.

_-What next?_

_-I'll kiss you_

_-Stop saying that! What else?_

_-…Thrust_

Javert felt incredibly uncomfortable typing the word out, and he could almost feel Éponine's frustration through the phone.

_-U suck at this. this is so unsexy_

Javert didn't bother denying it.

_-Perhaps_

_-Whatever. I'll see u when u get home. bye_

With a frown, Javert shut his phone, unsettled and still slightly aroused. But he forced himself to return to his paperwork, and he worked steadily until Stanford looked over at him and smirked.

"What's that on your neck?"

Javert scowled, unsure what he was talking about, "What?"

Stanford got to his feet and walked over at him, taking a close look at his neck and then smirking again, "Is that a hickey?"

Silently, Javert cursed Éponine. Most of the time she had enough sense to leave hickeys on his collarbone and lower neck that he could hide easily, but that hadn't been the case last night, apparently.

"No," he barked, not bothering to look up from his paperwork, "It's a bruise, Stanford."

The other man scoffed, "That's…not a bruise."

"It's a bruise," Javert repeated, more forcefully this time, and glared at him.

That was enough to make Stanford drop it, and Javert scowled at the man as he chuckled, muttered a quiet 'I'm sure it is,' and walked back to his desk.

* * *

When he arrived home late that evening after being held up by a number of clerical errors, Éponine was lying naked on his bed, just like she'd promised. At first, he was alarmed when he entered his dark apartment and found no sign of her, and called out her name with trepidation. When he heard her yell back, "In here!" from the bedroom, however, he stalked toward the room and pushed open the door, finding her lying naked on the bed, her hair newly brushed and a playful little smirk on her lips. He could see only the outline of her body in the darkness and a little of her face, but it was enough to send a powerful rush of desire through him.

"I was going to light candles," she told him, "but you didn't have any." With a chuckle, she sprung to her feet and walked over to him, then declared, "You're really bad at sexting, you know."

"I know," he said, as her hands wandered to his shirt and began to unbutton it.

She leaned in to kiss him, but pulled away hardly a second later, "Make it up to me."

"How?"

Her hand crept around to his back pocket, dipped inside, and retrieved his handcuffs. She held them up with a grin, "Roleplay."

Javert had a vague idea of what sexual roleplay entailed and didn't like the sound of it very much at all, as he could only assume she was planning to put him in his own handcuffs. Éponine noticed his displeasure and elaborated, "Arrest me. Put me in these. I like it when you're…" she had to pause and search for the right word, "authoritative." Javert still didn't look convinced. She rolled her eyes, "Come on. It'll be like… cops and robbers in bed."

Éponine finally undid the last button and tossed his shirt aside, and was about to start on his pants when he grabbed her suddenly, pushed her down onto the bed, and locked her wrists behind her back in his handcuffs, sparing her not even a bit of gentleness as he did so. It was clear to her that he was playing along, now; he wasn't going to be gentle, he was going to treat her like a common criminal, and she realized quickly that it would be rough.

Éponine grinned. She liked it rough.

"You're under arrest," he growled, his voice deep and booming, and the sound of that alone was enough to make her wet. After removing his pants, he began to lay harsh kisses on the smooth expanse of her back, nipping at the skin periodically without saying a word though she longed for the sound of his voice. Éponine swiveled her hips and moaned, and she felt him dig his hands into her hips, so hard that his dull fingernails left marks on her skin.

"You have the right to remain silent," he recited, and the low, monotonous sound of his voice as he read Éponine her rights prompted another rush of desire between her legs. Just when she was about to beg him to touch her – to do something, anything – she felt him place his length at her entrance and circle it around her trembling folds, exercising immense self-control Éponine had never seen before in a man. Then, hardly a second later, he entered her roughly, so roughly that it nearly caused her pain, and she cried out in ecstasy. She felt whole, complete; she'd yearned for him to be inside her all day, and now that he was, the feeling was heaven.

"Oh…" she moaned and curled her toes, as there was little else she could do.

In the lowest, more fearsome voice he could muster, Javert continued, "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

He quickened his pace until he was nearly pounding her, sliding in and out of her hot, wet heat rapidly. Éponine was moaning so loudly that for a moment Javert wondered if he was causing her pain. Yet when he slowed down to see if that was the case, she only squirmed and begged him to go faster, and so he sped up again, holding onto her hips tightly. He was fucking her, mounting her like a dog, and in that instant the both of them were reduced to their most primal instincts, little more than beasts.

"Harder…" she squeaked. He'd never entered her so deeply, but even so, she craved more, "Please…o-officer."

Having so fully assumed the role that he was playing, his answer was harsh, biting, as if he were speaking to a newly-arrested criminal he did not know, and did not care for, "Be quiet."

She obeyed, and he continued, "You have the right to an attorney."

Normally, those words would be the furthest thing from sexy for Éponine, but in that moment as she laid there while he pummeled her, her hands cuffed and her body at his mercy, they drove her mad with lust. His severity almost frightened her, and she was trembling; from the pleasure or from fear, she did not know. Without warning, she came hard, her cunt trembling and fluttering deliciously around him, yet somehow he remained in control and continued to recite her rights, even as she shook to pieces before him, moaning and panting helplessly into the sheets.

Without pulling out of Éponine, he grabbed her and yanked her up close to him, so that his mouth was only inches from her ear but she was still facing away from him. Éponine was sweaty and flushed, her body shaking, and she was breathing so hard that she felt lightheaded. Once he'd held her up by him for a moment, he growled in her ear, his voice bone-chilling and sending a violent shudder through her, "Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?"

Though she was nearly unable to speak now, she managed to choke out, "Yes."

Satisfied, he let her fall back down on the bed and continued, climbing toward his own peak quickly as well. He almost wasn't sure how much more the shaking Éponine could take, but the sight of her here – locked in his handcuffs, helpless and begging him for more no matter how hard he fucked her – drove his lust to heights it'd never reached before.

"How do you plead?" he bit out. When she gave nothing but a choked moan in response, he raised his voice, "_How do you plead_?"

"Guilty! Oh…" she cried. Her voice was broken and hoarse from moaning, and she was nearly unconscious now, able to focus only on the sensation of him inside her, so big, so domineering and hot and stretching her almost to the point of pain. She panted to regain her breath, and once she had, she shook her head, her words coming out in shaky half-sobs, "Guilty, guilty, guilty…"

That proved to be enough to satisfy Javert, and just as he came inside of her with a long, rumbling moan, she met her climax again as well. They had never felt closer to anyone else than they did in that moment; they were sharing this moment of ecstasy, now, and every tremor that passed through Éponine passed through Javert as well. Their limbs felt like gelatin, their bodies exhausted and burning with the embers of desire. Éponine was still locked in the handcuffs, bent over on the bed with her face pressed into the sheets, and as she rode the waves of her orgasm, she nearly blacked out, so overwhelming was the sensation. His head reeling as well, Javert pulled out after they both had finished and collapsed into a sitting position beside her. His entire body was soaked with sweat, and he was nearly trembling from the force of his climax. It took them a while to recover, and once Éponine had, she managed to sit up and beckon him to release her. He did so – though if he were not so fatigued he would've taken her again– and then stumbled back over to the bed, lying down on it and then watching Éponine as she joined him a moment later, curling up at his side and settling in like a puzzle piece finding its perfect fit.

Strands of her dark hair were plastered to her forehead with sweat, and he couldn't see anything but the gentle curves of her body in the darkness, yet the moonlight illuminated her face, and for a moment he pondered how beautiful she looked, wrapped in post-coital bliss. She had a hazy expression on her face and seemed exhausted, but for a while, she didn't fall asleep, her head resting on his chest as she remained there, washed in the tide of his breathing.

Then, she looked up at Javert and propped herself up on one elbow beside him, looking into his eyes and murmuring, "I-I want to stay here. For a long time."

Even Éponine wasn't certain what that meant, but it was too late to say that this meant nothing and too soon to say 'I love you.' The atmosphere between them shifted then, and in a rare display of tenderness, he reached over and laid a hand against her cheek. Éponine thought for a moment that he would say something, yet when he did nothing but nod, she knew it wasn't a meaningless nod, or one he'd given out of obligation. He wanted her to stay; he'd never say it out loud, of course, as he was a man of few words, but Éponine thought to herself that she didn't need him to. She could understand him perfectly well like this, in the silence.


	14. Chapter 14

**XIV**

* * *

"You're not going back there."

Éponine scowled and took a step toward Javert, who stood off in the corner with his arms folded, "Why not?"

"It's not safe," he bit out, "Not if your father will be there."

"All I need to do is get some of my stuff and check on my sister. It'll take like, five, seconds."

He didn't look convinced, "It's not a good idea."

"I can go wherever I want! What, you think now that I live here I have to _obey _you?"

"No," he told her honestly, "I'm not saying you can't. I'm saying it's not_ smart_."

She rolled her eyes, headed for the door nevertheless, and turned to look at him, "I'll be back in a minute." Éponine sensed his unease and sighed, "If I'm not back in ten come look for me."

With that, she left and stepped into the hall, ascending the stairs to the floor above and opening the door with her key. She slipped inside quietly, and nearly breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed that neither of her parents appeared to be around. It was late at night, and when she ducked inside her old room, she found Azelma sleeping soundly. Deciding not to wake her, Éponine began to collect the rest of her belongings as noiselessly as she could manage, and she was just about to gather some of her shirts when she heard Azelma roll over in bed.

"'Ponine? What're you doing?"

Éponine turned to look at her, and found that Azelma had awoken and was blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Éponine stopped what she was doing and walked over to sit on the bed next to her sister.

Azelma furrowed her brow, "Where've you been? It's been…more than a week."

"It's a long story," Éponine told her softly, avoiding her eyes. Azelma took the hint, and didn't pry further.

"W-where are you staying?"

The question made Éponine tense, and Azelma seemed to notice. After thinking for a moment, Éponine muttered, "With a friend."

"A friend?" Azelma narrowed her eyes, "What's that on your neck then?"

Éponine clenched her jaw. She'd meant to put concealer on the hickey Javert had given her yesterday before she left his apartment, but after her brief argument with him she'd forgotten and simply stormed out.

Azelma shook her head, "You can tell me. I won't tell anybody else."

Already feeling guilty enough for leaving Azelma with their pathetic excuses for parents, Éponine hesitated, but eventually acquiesced and lowered her voice almost to a whisper, "You can't tell _anyone_. Especially not mom and dad."

"Why would I tell them?" Azelma scoffed, "They're drunk so much they don't remember half of what I say anyway."

"It's Javert," Éponine admitted, her eyes lowered, "I'm staying with him. Just came back to get my stuff."

"And… _he's_ the one who gave you that?" Azelma pointed to the mark on her neck in disbelief.

"Yeah. He is." For a moment they fell into silence as Azelma absorbed this information, and suddenly, Éponine looked up at her, "Will you be all right here, on your own?"

Azelma shrugged, "Always been all right before."

Éponine gave her a shaky smile and got to her feet, collecting the rest of her possessions and heading toward the door. Just before she left, however, she turned and looked at Azelma once more, "If you need anything, find me. You know where I'll be."

She turned and left shortly thereafter, and she was almost to the door when she heard the sound of the key clicking in a lock. Hardly a second later, her father stumbled in, obviously drunk, and she gulped. He noticed her almost immediately and stormed up to her, grabbing her by the front of her shirt and snarling.

"_You._ Where the hell've you been?" Mr. Thénardier didn't wait for a reply, "'Parnasse is gone. Haven't heard from him in days. Brujon told me something happened and you were there. Where the fuck is he?" Knowing it wouldn't serve much of a purpose to reason with him while he was drunk, she didn't say anything, and prayed silently to herself that he wouldn't notice the hickey on her neck.

"You're a dumb bitch. Not worth shit. Always knew 'Parnasse would drag you along and you'd get him arrested. He's the smartest guy I got!"

Éponine held her tongue for once, and cringed as she breathed in the alcohol on his breath. Belligerent in his intoxication, he continued, "Your mom should've aborted you while she had the chance; all you've ever been is useless. A stupid little bitch too fucking dumb to do anything but leech off of me. _Me_!" He seemed to notice the mark on her neck all of a sudden, and his scowl grew deeper, "What is that?"

Éponine gulped, and winced in pain when he grabbed her by the hair.

"Who the hell gave you that? 'Parnasse's been gone for more 'n a week and that's new. Who're you fucking now, you slut?" He released her and exhaled sharply through his nose, like a bull about to charge, "Bring him here. I want to meet him."

Éponine gave him a look of confusion, "What, now?"

"Yes _now_. Go. I'll be waiting here. If you don't come back, girl, the next time I see you you'll be wishing you were dead."

As an idea came to her, she raised her chin at a haughty angle, "Fine. I'll bring him here."

Fuming, she stormed out the door with her pillowcase full of belongings in hand and hurried down the stairs. She let herself back into Javert's apartment quickly, dropped her things, and then stormed over to where Javert sat, reading the newspaper on the sofa and waiting for her. He looked up in surprise upon hearing her enter, and rose to stand when he noticed how furious she looked.

"What is it?" he frowned. Without a word, she stalked over to him, grabbed him roughly by the arm, and led him out the door. Bewildered, he followed, but asked again, "What are you doing?"

"Stuff," was all she said.

She led him up the stairs and to her family's apartment, pulling the door open all at once. The moment she stepped inside, she found her father standing in the kitchen, gulping down another beer from the fridge. As soon as Mr. Thénardier realized who was standing before him, he stalked over to where they stood and scowled.

"What the hell is he doin' here?" he slurred and motioned at Javert, caught between anger and shock and too drunk to know which one he should feel.

"You said you wanted to know who I'm fucking," she told him calmly as she put her hands on her hips, "Here he is, _daddy_."

Javert barely had enough time to duck out of the way before Thénardier came hurtling toward him.

* * *

By the time Javert arrived at the police station with Thénardier in tow, he had been called nearly every expletive in the book – even a few he'd never heard before. He had to give Thénardier some credit for that; he'd been a police officer for decades.

Nevertheless, he dragged the struggling man into the station, and though he usually had no trouble restraining criminals because of his immense size, Thénardier was thrashing about so wildly that he nearly escaped twice and attacked Javert.

"I'll fucking kill you, you bastard! I'll shoot you and slit your throat and dump your body where they'll never find you! _You're fucking my daughter_! I'll kill you. You'll wish you never-"

"Be quiet," Javert snapped, growing weary of the endless torrent of insults. As soon as they stepped into the police station, he handed Thénardier off to two other officers, who also found it difficult to keep a steady hold on him, "His name is Louis Thénardier. He threw a punch at me, attempted to stab me, and threatened my life. Deal with him."

The men nodded, but as they dragged him away, Thénardier continued to yell, "He fucked my daughter! _He fucked my daughter_!"

Javert pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a breath as he felt the beginnings of a headache begin to burrow into his skull. Normally he would've volunteered to deal with the criminals he brought in himself, but he didn't honestly think he could stand interrogating a drunk who had only recently learned of his relationship with his daughter and would likely spend the whole time screaming at him. The only thing he could do now, Javert decided, was hope that Thénardier was so drunk that he wouldn't remember it in the morning. Out of nowhere, he heard footsteps behind him, and turned just in time to see Stanford walk up and raise an eyebrow.

"What was that that guy said?" Stanford asked, and Javert scowled as he began to stalk toward the door, intent on returning to Éponine as soon as he could and escaping the man before him.

His tone was clipped when he spoke, "Gibberish. He's drunk."

"Where'd he get the idea you're…having sexual relations with his daughter?"

"I don't know."

"Well, it has to have some basis in truth, doesn't it?" Javert stopped and glared at the man but hadn't the energy to deny it. Stanford's eyes widened, "Oh my God. It's true!"

"Be quiet," he hissed, beginning to walk toward the door once again, "My personal life is not your concern."

Irritatingly, Stanford did not heed him, "How old is she? That guy didn't look any older than us." Javert stopped once more at the door and glared at him, opening his mouth to speak, but his partner spoke first, "Thirty?" When he received no reply from Javert, he raised his eyebrows in disbelief, "_Twenty_?" Still, Javert gave no reply. Stanford's mouth nearly fell agape, "Christ, is she even _legal_?"

"Of course she's legal, you idiot," Javert snapped, then clenched his jaw and lowered his voice, "If you say a word of this to anyone, I-"

"You'll have my head, I know. I won't." Stanford reached out and clapped Javert on the shoulder, prompting the older man to narrow his eyes at him. His partner laughed, "I have no idea how _you_ managed to land a girl less than half your age, but I'm impressed."

Javert rolled his eyes and pushed the door open to leave, but before he did, he turned and looked his partner square in the eyes, "Shut up, Stanford."

* * *

When Javert returned, he found Éponine sitting on his couch, smoking a cigarette alone in the darkness and drinking a glass of his brandy. He stepped inside and removed his coat, then turned on the light on the end table beside the sofa and frowned down at her. She seemed to notice his aggravation and evaded his gaze, blowing a puff of smoke into the air and watching it rise without a word.

After a tense moment, he spoke, "That was stupid. Impulsive."

"I know," she stared down into her glass, "I shouldn't have told him."

Javert shook his head and took a seat beside her, too tired to actually be angry, "He would've found out from Montparnasse anyway."

"How? He wouldn't go try to visit him in jail," Éponine shook her head and sat up, offering him a drag of her cigarette, "He's not that stupid."

"There are other ways of communication in jail besides visitation. He'll find something," Javert informed her dryly as he took a pull of the cigarette and exhaled the smoke. He looked over at her drink, and remarked, "You aren't twenty-one."

She drank deeply and gave him a weary smile, "You gonna take it away?"

"No," he shook his head and leaned back on the couch. After a moment, Éponine offered him a cigarette, and when he nodded, she leaned over and lit it for him. Then, she laid her head down on his lap and closed her eyes, setting aside her drink.

"He pissed me off," she said, referring to her conversation with her father hours ago, "Normally I don't let him get to me, but…" she frowned, "He called me a dumb bitch, said I wasn't worth shit." Éponine trailed off and sighed, "You're lucky you never had parents. They suck."

"You shouldn't have told him like that. He's angry," he deadpanned, "He'll send his friends after you. Or me."

She sat up suddenly, put out her cigarette in the ash tray on his coffee table, and climbed onto his lap, straddling him and hovering her lips over his, "I don't care."

"He wants us dead."

"I don't _care_," she repeated. Their mouths were so close that he could nearly taste the liquor on her breath, "I want the whole world to know. I want to tell everyone."

"We can't-" he hissed, but she silenced him with a kiss.

"I want everyone to know how hard you fuck me. I want everyone to know how good it is," she breathed as she kissed him again.

Coldly, he nudged her off of him and got to his feet, putting out his cigarette as well and walking over to the corner. Once he was there, he turned to look at her and folded his arms, "People will talk. You're less than half my age."

She strolled over to him and looped her arms around the back of his neck, shaking her head with a frown, "Why does it matter what people think?"

He didn't give her an answer, and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him for a third time, crushing his body up against hers and sliding her tongue into his mouth. As the kiss grew deeper, he lifted her up and sat her on the back of the couch, tangling one of his hands in her hair and placing the other firmly on her ass. Daringly, she bit down hard on his lower lip, and tasted his blood as it trickled onto her tongue. He drew back with a hiss, and when he looked at her again, there was an icy fire raging in his eyes that made her heart race. Immediately, she could feel that the mood between them had changed, and the room felt ten degrees hotter than it had only seconds ago. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Quickly, he pulled her shirt over her head and unclasped her bra, throwing them both aside and leaving her only in her jeans. Lowering his head, he began to kiss and nip at her breasts, and she threaded her fingers through his short hair.

Finally, he spoke, and his deep voice made her skin break out in goosebumps, "I'll fuck you in front of all of them: your father, Montparnasse, that boy Marius." He'd never talked like this to her before, and she grew wetter with every word he spoke. "I'll fuck you until you can't walk in the morning. Until you're begging me to stop. I'll have you on my desk, on your kitchen table, anywhere I want, whenever I want."

Her breath caught in her throat, "Yes. _Yes_."

"And they'll all know," he snarled as he kissed the soft valley between her breasts, "Everyone will know…that you belong to me." He unzipped her jeans and dipped his hand inside, kissing her on the mouth and tasting the remnants of the cigarette on her tongue. Javert traced his finger around her sex, then locked eyes with her intensely, "This is mine." He took one of her nipples into his mouth, and listened to her moan in response, "These are mine." After raising his lips to hers, he bit down hard on her lower lip, just like she'd done to him, and growled, "You are mine."

"Yes, yes, yes," she let the word tumble freely from her lips.

Hardly a minute later, Javert reached out and picked Éponine up, carrying her into the bedroom and kicking the door shut behind him.

* * *

A week later, Javert arrived home one evening to find Éponine sitting on the sofa once more, yet this time, she was staring at an envelope on the coffee table before her and picking anxiously at her fingernails. She looked distraught, and he thought for a moment he'd never seen her so on edge. She didn't even hear him close the door behind himself, and it was only when Javert spoke that she looked his way.

"What's wrong?" Éponine didn't answer, instead only chewing on her bottom lip, and he approached her with a frown, "What is that?"

She sighed and muttered, "My GED test results."

"When did you take it?" he took a seat beside her.

"Like a month ago. I-I was going to surprise you, but…" she continued to pick at her fingers, "It came this morning, and I was gonna open it, but I can't."

He placed his large hand over hers, stopping her from her nervous picking, "Why not?"

"I'm gonna fail," she blurted out, "I know it. I always fuck everything up."

"You've just been staring at it all day?" he furrowed his brow, and she nodded.

"It's kinda stupid but…" she swallowed, "I couldn't open it without you."

"Well, I'm here now," Javert said, "Open it."

She scoffed, "It's not that simple! I can't just…_open_ it. I…" Suddenly, she extended the envelope to him, "You do it."

He didn't reach for it, "It's not mine to open."

She flattened her lips into a line and exhaled sharply, "Fine. Okay. Okay, I'll do it."

Éponine got to her feet and began to rip the envelope open, pacing anxiously around the room as she did so. Javert stood as well, and watched her as she squeezed her eyes shut and pulled out the letter. For a moment she stayed like that, holding the piece of paper with her eyes closed, and then, suddenly, she dared to open them and read the letter she held in her hands. Javert watched her with trepidation, unable to tell what she was thinking as she read, and when her mouth fell agape, he wasn't sure if she was devastated or elated.

For a moment they were silent, and then, she looked up at him, her eyes wide with shock, and whispered, "I passed." A huge smile broke out on her face, and she rushed over to him, shoving the letter into his hands, "I passed!" He look at it briefly, but she didn't let him see it for long before she grabbed it away, staring at it almost as if she couldn't believe it was real.

Javert didn't think he'd ever seen her look so happy; usually, she had a constant air of mild irritation about her, but now she was as giddy as a little girl. She laughed aloud and walked back over to him, drawing him close and kissing him deeply. Once she broke away, she remained close to him and placed a gentle hand on his cheek, suddenly growing somber, "Thank you."

He showed confusion, "For what?"

"I-I never would've done it if you hadn't told me to," she smiled up at him, her eyes glowing, "I would've just stayed here forever…probably married Montparnasse, too." Éponine chuckled, thinking to herself how bleak a future that would've been. Abruptly, she declared, "We should celebrate."

Javert seemed unfamiliar with the concept of celebration, "Dinner?"

"Not at a restaurant. Let's stay in." She thought for a moment, and then told him, "We could make sandwiches and eat them on the roof. It's warm tonight."

"We're not allowed on the roof."

"So?" she laughed, and reluctantly, Javert gave in, following her over to the counter and helping her prepare sandwiches for the two of them, using the few bits of lunchmeat he had lying around. Then, they took them up to the roof and snuck out one of the ledges of the building, with Javert reminding her the whole way that it was against the landlord's rules. They ate mostly in silence after that, and once they were done, they watched the sun as it sunk below the horizon and let darkness slither over the buildings that stretched out before them. For a time the sun glowed in the distance, and she watched as the light faded and dusk's yellow glow spread out over the world.

Then, once the sun had vanished altogether, they watched the stars come out, and when she noticed him look up at them intently, she furrowed her brow, "What're you doing?" He didn't answer, and she shook her head in confusion, "Are you…looking at the stars?"

Javert lit a cigarette and nodded, "Yes."

"Why?"

He had to stop and think what to say, "They are always the same. Orderly. Constant."

"What, so you're, like, into astronomy?" she moved closer to him and took a drag of his cigarette.

"No. Only stars."

She raised her eyebrows, "Holy crap. You actually have an _interest_."

"I have other interests," he informed her lowly.

"Like what? Arresting people?"

His answer was simple, "You."

She laughed, "You never told me your story, you know."

"What do you want to know?" He was displaying an atypical willingness to speak, and she decided to take advantage of it.

"You told me once that you got mixed up with a wrong people. What was it? Were you…in a gang or something?" Solemnly, he nodded, and her eyes widened, "Really? Sweet, which one?"

He scowled and took a long pull of the cigarette, "It is not _sweet_."

"Why'd you leave?"

Javert could tell that Éponine wanted a story, and, albeit reluctantly, he began to give her one, "They called themselves the Saints. I joined when I was fifteen, and stupid. I had no family, thought they would be one." He handed her the cigarette. As she took it, her eyes never left him. "At first it was theft. An occasional mugging. Then it turned to drug trafficking, extortion."

"Murder?"

He nodded gravely, "They took me on my first serious job when I was seventeen. Something involving drugs. It was supposed to be simple, but when the supplier refused to cooperate it turned bloody. Three men were shot."

"Did you…?"

"No," he frowned at the memory, "I never killed anyone. I would've gone to jail if one of the first officers on the scene hadn't testified and insisted I was innocent. In the end I was sentenced to community service. The officer took me under his wing. He made me want to join the police."

"So, basically, when you were young…" she cocked her head to one side, "you were a Montparnasse?"

That earned her a sneer, "No. I wasn't nearly as stupid as him."

"You should talk more," she said with a grin, "You have a nice voice." He seemed amused by that. After a moment, she spoke up again, "This is a date, you know."

"Is it?" he muttered, eyeing her with the least terrifying look she'd ever seen him wear.

"Yes," Éponine told him as she leaned in for another kiss, "It is."

They kissed as the stars shone down on them from above, and though the buzz of the city around them never ceased, in that instant they were the only two people in the world.


	15. Chapter 15

**XV**

* * *

It was mid-afternoon, and Javert, like he always did, was enduring a patrol with his partner in silence. Stanford was driving, which left Javert with nothing to do but listen to the man ramble on – and now that his partner knew that he was in a relationship, he wouldn't shut up.

"So she's less than twenty, but legal. So… eighteen or nineteen?"

"Basic math would indicate that, yes."

"What's her name?"

Javert almost rolled his eyes, "Mind your own business."

"How'd you meet her? You arrest her or something?"

_Twice, actually._

Javert didn't answer, which was a confirmation for Stanford. The other man raised his eyebrows, "You did? Never thought of that, asking criminals out. Not a bad idea."

"Be quiet."

"Are you guys…serious? Well, I'm sure you are. You don't half-ass anything." Stanford glanced over at him briefly, "Is she?"

Javert was forced to stop and ponder that. Was Éponine serious? She was young and impulsive at times, but she was also wise beyond her years, and not at all frivolous like most other eighteen year-olds. Briefly, he thought back her words to him that night they'd spent together a few weeks ago, after returning from their stay in the cabin. _I want to stay here. For a long time. _Yes, he thought. She was serious, though he wasn't quite sure what being serious in a relationship entailed.

"C'mon, Javert, give me something-"

"Yes," he bit out suddenly, cutting Stanford off.

His partner furrowed his brow, "What?"

Javert met his eyes and spoke steadily, "She is serious."

"I'm proud of you. Here I thought you'd never get a woman and now you've got a younger one than I'll ever have." Stanford lowered his voice then, as if he would somehow be heard by their superiors, "She have daddy issues or something?"

That was the breaking point for Javert, who narrowed his eyes at the man and growled in the most chilling voice he could muster, "Not _one more word_ about my personal life. Understand?"

His partner held up his hands as though in surrender, "All right, okay. Jesus. I guess I should thank her, though." Stanford grinned over at him, "You've been yelling at me a lot less since you started seeing her."

Javert gave no reply to that, and for a while they drove on in silence without a word. After growing bored with the quiet, Stanford reached down and turned on the FM radio, though Javert often reminded him that they were supposed to be listening to the police radio instead. He dialed through it for a while, and when he found his preferred station, he left it alone, returning to his driving. The station began a new song a minute later, and Javert froze when he heard the opening words.

"_Young girl, get out of my mind. My love for you is way out of line. Better run, girl. You're much too young, girl…"_

Stanford nudged Javert, "Listen. It's your new theme song."

"Turn that off," Javert ordered, but Stanford did not obey.

"Perfect, huh?"

"We won't be able to hear the reports-"

"_Beneath your perfume and make-up, you're just a baby in disguise…"_

The song was disconcerting Javert, and Stanford seemed to enjoy watching him squirm. He reached down to turn it off, but Stanford blocked him and chuckled.

"Great song. Classic."

Javert's voice held a note of warning in it, "Stanford…"

Javert finally cracked when his partner began to sing along in a horribly off-key voice, and he turned the radio off with a growl. He glared at the man and prepared to chew him out, when suddenly, they saw a figure in black dart out of a store just feet away from their car, followed by the store owner, yelling after them. Javert scowled and took the opportunity to get away from Stanford, unbuckling his seatbelt and looking back briefly at the other man.

"I'll get this. Stay here."

He hopped out and took off after the thief. Behind him, the shop owner called out, "Police! She robbed me!"

Stupidly, the thief ducked into an alleyway, and Javert was hot on their heels, as he'd always been a fast runner and able to catch most fleeing criminals. They stopped at the end of the alleyway, apparently knowing they had no escape, and Javert called out, "Stop. In the name of the law!"

He stormed toward the figure, who was standing with their back to him, and all at once, they removed their hood, turned to face him, and grinned.

It was Éponine, clad in a black hoodie and leggings, her cheeks flushed from running and her eyes dancing at the sight of him. Bewildered, Javert stopped in his tracks and looked at her, breathless and beautiful as she stood there.

"Hey," she chirped. He furrowed his brow, not knowing what to say.

"What are you doing here?" he finally demanded, and she smirked.

She moved closer to him and tilted her head to one side, "I wanted to see you. Had to find some excuse."

"You robbed a store," he hissed.

She laughed and pulled out a pack of gum from the pocket of her hoodie, "Relax. I only took a pack of gum. I'll return it."

"How did you know my patrol route?"

She gave him a lopsided grin, "I have connections."

He almost couldn't believe her, "For God's sake-"

Éponine moved closer to him, "You work all the time. I hardly ever see you."

"I have to get back," he asserted, but found his resolve weakening when she placed her soft lips on his neck and kissed it.

"I did all this to see you," her voice was low and pleading, "Stay for a minute, at least."

"I don't have ti-"

"C'mon. Not even for a quickie?"

"Someone will see-"

"So? Let them see," she murmured across his skin.

He snarled, "No."

"_Yes_."

When he felt her little hands creep down and begun to undo his belt, he scowled and pushed her away roughly. The words of the song reverberated in his mind – '_Beneath your perfume and make-up, you're just a baby in disguise' _– and suddenly, he grew unsettled by the feeling of her hands on his groin, though usually he would welcome it. He didn't know what to do, and so he hissed and took a step back from Éponine.

"Stop it," he spat. She raised her eyebrows in surprise; usually, he wasn't so gruff with her, and even when he didn't have time to make love, he almost always gave in if she could persuade him. Yet now there was no uncertainty in his eyes, no desire or lust. He wasn't going to give in; he almost seemed angry with her, and she wasn't sure why. Taken aback by his harsh demeanor, she frowned and folded her arms.

"Geez. The hell's the matter with you?"

"I can't have _sex_ with you here," he bit out, his confusion turning to anger. The song continued to echo inside his mind, and he clenched his jaw, "Don't do this again." Then, he grabbed the pack of gum out of her pocket and held it out to her, "And take this back to the store."

He stalked away shortly after, leaving Éponine alone at the end of the alleyway. After he'd taken a few steps, he heard her give a huff of indignation and call out, "Have a nice day, jackass."

Javert took a deep breath and returned to his cruiser, turning up the police radio as loudly as he could to drown any of his partner's attempts to make conversation.

* * *

Instead of returning to his apartment after work that evening, he went to the roof of his building and stood near the ledge where he and Éponine had spoken a week ago. In his pocket, his phone buzzed repeatedly with what he could only assume to be Éponine's texts and calls, but he never checked it and instead only peered up at the stars, a solitary figure alone in the darkness. In the back of his mind, 'Young Girl' continued to play on repeat, and he couldn't figure out why the song had bothered him so much. Éponine was young; he'd known that from the start. He'd known that the first time they'd kissed, the first time they'd made love, when he'd offered to let her stay with him. He'd known it all along, and it'd never troubled him much until now.

"Hey! Where have you been?"

A familiar voice sounded out behind him, and he turned to find Éponine there, her hands on her hips and her cheeks flushed with anger. Her hair was blowing about in the gentle breeze as she approached him, but before he could look at her for long, he glanced away and back up at the skies.

"Here," was all he said. He heard her scoff.

"I called you like ten times. _And_ texted you."

"I know."

"Why didn't you answer?" she demanded as she came to stand at his side, "Are you still mad at me for today? I took back the gum like I said I would."

"No."

"Then what-"

The words left his mouth all at once, and he spoke them far more harshly than he'd intended, "You're too young for me."

She shook her head in confusion, "W-what?"

"You're only eighteen."

"So? I'm legal-"

"Barely legal," he said, as if he was reminding himself.

Her shock quickly turned to irritation, "You never cared before!"

"Maybe I should've," he muttered, "You're still a kid."

"I'm a not kid!" she exclaimed, grabbing his arm and pulling him close to her, "After all we've done you're going to call me a kid?"

"You should be with someone your own age," he told her.

"What, like Montparnasse?" she bit out a laugh.

He shook his head, "No."

"I don't want anyone my age!" she cried, bewildered by this sudden change in him. She swallowed, "I want you."

"I am fifty-one," he told her gravely, "Decades older than you."

All at once, she tugged him by the collar and drew him into her, "I don't care."

"You-"

"I don't care how old you are. I don't _care_ if I'm barely legal. A-and I don't want to be with some guy my age; they're all cocky assholes," she lowered her voice and looked him in the eyes, "They're not you."

"It is wrong," he asserted, though he did not truly believe it, and his resolution was wearing thin.

"You never cared before," she frowned, "Why does it matter now?" He didn't answer, and she raised her face to his, "Tell me."

"I heard a song," he said, and it was only after he'd spoken the words aloud that he realized how stupid it sounded.

"What song?"

He hesitated, then finally told her, "'Young Girl.'"

She almost laughed, "You're upset about my age because of a_ song_?" The smile faded from her lips quickly, however, and she positioned her face mere centimeters from his, "That song's bullshit. And it's not us." She paused to take a look at him, then lowered her voice, "Do you still think this is wrong?"

The feeling of her so close to him made every nerve in his body tingle, and as her lips pressed down on his neck and began to wander, the song faded from his memory all at once. "No."

She captured his lips forcefully and yanked him as close to her body as he could be. After a minute, she pulled away and grinned up at him, "What can I say? I have a thing for older guys." She bit her lip, her eyes burning with desire, "I just…I look at you and…" She made an urgent whimpering sound, "God, I'm wet."

Instead of abandoning thought altogether as those words drifted to his ears, he pulled back slightly and asked, "What is this?"

Éponine frowned, "What is what?"

"This," he repeated with a scowl, "Only sex?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Is that what you want, Inspector?" He gave no response, and she rested her forehead on his chin, "This isn't only sex. Not for me." She started to place soft kisses on his chin, before pulling away and chuckling, "You really got_ that_ upset over a stupid song? You're so dramatic."

Javert pulled her into his chest again and silenced her with a kiss.

* * *

The next day, as Éponine was walking down 48th street on her way home in the pouring rain, she came upon Gavroche, who was just about to duck inside a nearby café with a sign over the door that read 'ABC.' She spotted him from a distance, and hurried up to him with a smile, eager to escape the downpour.

"Hey, Gav!"

He turned toward the sound of her voice and stopped near the door, "Hey, 'Ponine."

She frowned when she noticed that he didn't appear to be very thrilled by her presence, "What's up?"

"I don't know if I can be seen with you in public," he told her, and she scoffed.

"What? Why?"

He folded his arms and frowned, "You're with Javert."

She frowned, "W-where did you hear that?"

"Brujon told me. Montparnasse told him." There was a moment of silence, and Éponine fidgeted uncomfortably, prompting him to accuse, "So it's true."

"Yeah," Éponine muttered, "It is."

"How could you?" Gavroche exclaimed, "He's a _cop_! And he's old-"

"I know, okay? Can we just…" she sighed, "Can we just talk about this in here?"

Gavroche seemed reluctant at first, but eventually shrugged, "I _guess_ we could…if you buy me a croissant first."

Éponine grinned and ruffled his hair, "Yeah. Sure."

They walked into the little café and approached the register, purchasing a single croissant for Gavroche and then sitting down at a table near the front windows. For a while they stared out the window as he ate, watching the rain fall outside, but after a few minutes, Gavroche directed his attention toward his sister and frowned at her through his mop of greasy blonde hair.

"So," he said as he chewed, "You're dating Javert."

"I wouldn't call it…_dating_," she said, and he frowned.

"What _would _you call it? Fucking?"

Her mouth fell slightly agape, and she looked around to ensure no one had heard, "Gav!"

"What? That's what you're doing, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but…" she lowered her eyes, "I don't wanna talk about that with you."

"He's old," Gavroche decided, "Too old for you."

"Maybe."

"Do you _really_ like him?" he asked, as if he didn't understand how anyone could like Javert. Éponine couldn't say she didn't understand his bewilderment; six months ago, she wouldn't have either.

She nodded, "Yeah. I do."

"So you don't like Marius anymore?" he asked, prompting her to tense.

She hesitated for a moment, then murmured, "Not really."

"He's here, y' know. He and his rich friends meet upstairs. Wanna go see?"

"I don't-" she began, but before she could continue Gavroche got to his feet and took her hand, abandoning his half-eaten pastry and leading her up a nearby flight of stairs. Once they were halfway up them, he stopped and peered through the railing. There was a group of about a dozen college-age boys sitting around three tables, and every one of them appeared to be in some kind of deep conversation or political debate.

"It's injustice!" one of the young men occupying the room – a blonde dressed in a red sweater – stood on one of the tables and proclaimed, "The homeless sleep on the streets and the trust fund babies sleep on silk sheets! Where's the fairness in that? This is why we have to make a statement! The powers in Washington won't listen to the poor, but they'll listen to us if we join forces!"

The other boys roared their approval, and the blonde hopped off of his perch and walked over to one of his friends, who stood near the stairwell from which Éponine and Gavroche were watching. He clapped him on the back with a grin, and lowered his voice, "Your cousin have the guns yet?"

"No," the other one replied, "Soon, Enjolras."

"We can't do anything until we have them. Tell him it's urgent."

Éponine's eyes widened as she listened, but Gavroche didn't seem to think much of it. Hardly a second later, he hurried up the remainder of the stairs and entered the room, while Éponine stayed behind and ascended the final steps by herself. She watched as the young, well-dressed men in the room took notice of her brother's presence and ruffled his hair fondly, handing him one of their spare donuts and offering him a seat. After a moment, she spotted Marius standing off in a corner, talking animatedly with one of his friends over a cup of coffee, and she frowned. She didn't know what was going on here, but it put her ill at ease.

As she stepped inside the room as well, Marius noticed her and stood, walking over to where she stood and furrowing his brow, "'Ponine? What're you doing here?"

"I was just…" she gulped, "In the neighborhood." She leaned in close to him with a frown, "What's going on here?"

Marius looked nervous, "Just a meeting."

"A meeting?" she scoffed, "That one guy was talking about getting guns!"

"We're planning a…a protest, okay-"

"A protest with _guns_? Are you trying to get yourself killed-"

"Hey, Marius!" Gavroche's voice interrupted them without warning, "You know my sister 'Ponine, don't you?"

He looked to her with confusion in his eyes, "He's your brother? He told me before he's homeless."

Seeing that her lies were starting to crumble and deciding it served no purpose to hide behind them anymore, she took a breath and lowered her voice, "Can we talk… outside? I-I have to tell you something."

Marius nodded, and they descended the stairs together, ducking out of the café and into the rain. Marius pulled out an umbrella and held it over them as they walked, then looked to her and frowned, "What's going on, 'Ponine?"

"I'm not in college," she blurted out all at once, "I live on the South Side, in a shitty apartment with my mom and dad and sister. I dropped out of high school when I was a sophomore. W-when I met you at that café I was working two jobs." She lowered her eyes, her cheeks hot with shame, "Everything I told you was a lie."

Marius looked boggled, "But…why did you lie about all that?"

She gave a sad sort of chuckle, "You were the only nice guy to look at me twice, ever. And I-I thought you wouldn't like me if you knew the truth. I'm from the hood." She shook her head. Marius didn't say a word, still too stunned to speak, and she sighed, "I thought maybe you'd ask me out. Take me to nice restaurants. And you never did – we were just friends – and…" Éponine stopped walking and bit her lower lip, "You know what – nevermind. I'll just go."

"No, don't," he urged, "You didn't have to lie to me, you know. I don't care where you're from."

She gave him a halfhearted half-smirk, "Can you honestly say someone like me and someone like you would've had anything in common if I hadn't?" That made Marius stop and think, and she shook her head, "I have to go. I'll see you around, I guess." Before she turned to go, however, she looked him square in the eyes, "Don't get mixed up with those guys. It's gonna end badly, whatever they're doing."

With that, she turned and walked away, letting the rain pour over her as she vanished around the corner, in the direction of Javert's apartment. After walking on for a while, she ducked inside and climbed the stairs to his door. She was soaking wet, her leather jacket saturated with rainwater and her sneakers making a faint squishing sound as she walked. Shivering, she let herself inside and came upon Javert standing by the window with his shirt open, dabbing at a bloody wound on his side. She could see that his nose appeared to be bleeding, and there were various other scuffs and scratches on him as well.

She frowned and tossed her keys on the coffee table, "What happened?"

"Perp got me with a knife before I could arrest him," he grunted.

"Did you go to the hospital?"

He shook his head, "No. It doesn't need stitches."

"He got your face too," she observed, "Lay down on the bed. I'll help."

Javert nodded and walked heavily over to the bedroom, lying down on the bed and watching as Éponine joined him a moment later with a roll of gauze, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and various other medical supplies she'd found in his cabinets. After sitting cross-legged beside him, she removed his shirt and tossed it away, then wet a piece of cotton with the alcohol and pressed it down on the cut. He clenched his jaw and hissed in pain, and Éponine frowned.

"You should be more careful," she said.

"I've been an officer for years," he told her lowly, "I am careful."

"Still. I…" she stopped what she was doing for a moment, "I don't want anything to happen to you."

That took Javert aback somewhat. For so long, his life had mattered to no one; if he were killed in the line of duty, he knew the only people at his funeral would be a few co-workers who would come solely out of obligation and a priest. He had no family, no wife, no children, no one to whom his life mattered and no one to weep for him if he was gone. Yet all that had changed with the arrival of Éponine, who was looking at him now as if she was terrified she might lose him and be left alone. Danger was part of his job, he knew, and he'd accepted long ago that death could wait around every corner, in the face of every criminal he met. It had never mattered much to him before, whether he lived or died.

But now, he did not want to die. Now, he had never had more to live for.

With a slight nod of his head, Javert reassured her, "I will be careful."

Éponine perked up at that and reached for a large bandage, applying an anti-bacterial cream and then placing it over the cut. After a moment of silence, she grinned at him, "I could get used to that, you know. Coming home and seeing you without a shirt on."

He made a low _humph_ at that. Having finished with his abdomen, she went to work on his nose next, and dabbed away the blood below his nostril. She worked mostly in silence, but after a while, she spoke up, "I told Marius the truth today." He frowned. Éponine sighed, "A-and it sucked, but…at the same time I didn't really care. Not about him, not about any of it. He never really knew who I was."

Still soaked from the rain, Éponine shuddered, and Javert noticed with a frown, "You should dry off."

She nodded and pulled off her leather jacket as well as the shirt underneath, until she was wearing only her bra and jeans. After cleaning his other scuffs and scrapes, she set aside the gauze and alcohol and curled up at his side, her hair and jeans still damp. Seeing how cold she was, Javert reached down and pulled the covers over the both of them, then listened contently to the beating of her heart as they lay there in stillness.

Then, without saying a word, Éponine sat up suddenly and placed her hands on either side of his face, looking at him with sleepy adoration in her eyes. After a moment, she gave him a little smile and pressed a kiss to his cheek – and somehow, though they'd shared kisses far more passionate and made love countless times, it felt more intimate than they'd ever been before. Éponine pulled away, then, and laid her head back down on his chest, quick to give herself over to the arms of sleep, but Javert was frozen, and could not slumber even though he tried.

He had never been so close to another person; he had known women before, but it'd never been like this. Precious few people in the world had ever gotten close to him at all, and when they had he'd pushed them away and retreated into his solitude, because solitude was safety for Javert. Yet now Éponine was here, having crashed into his life out of nowhere and giving him no sign that she planned to leave any time soon. Éponine was closer to him than anyone had ever been, warming the side of his bed that had been empty and cold for years.

And there was not a thought in his mind of retreating.


	16. Chapter 16

**Note: **Just a quick reminder: I didn't start writing this fic to do anything other than please myself. I don't write for other people; I always write for myself, and share it on the off chance that other people like it too. If you're unhappy or bored with the direction this fic has taken, by all means, feel free to stop reading it. This fic is already completed, edited, and will not be modified.

* * *

**XVI**

* * *

Two weeks later, Éponine and Javert had their first fight.

It started over something stupid – some thoughtless comment he'd made, or some sarcastic remark she'd said – and spiraled out of control quickly, as both Éponine and Javert were stubborn people and unwilling to admit they were wrong, even if doing so would end the increasingly pointless argument. Though Javert was angry, he stayed outwardly calm and spoke gruffly, while Éponine was prone to raising her voice and storming around the room furiously. It was half past midnight, now, and still their fight continued, their angry voices mixing together in a torrent of harsh words that rose up into the night.

Her cheeks colored with anger, Éponine stormed toward Javert, who stood behind the sofa with his arms folded, and spat, "You're such a dick! You know what? Hit me, if you're so mad!"

The suggestion disgusted Javert, and when she reached up her hand to pull him close to her, he brushed it away, "I am not going to hit you."

Nonsensical in her anger, she laughed, "Guys have been hitting me my whole life. Go ahead! I can take a punch."

"I am not going to hit you," he repeated steadily. She let out a growl and raised her hand again to slap him, but he caught her wrist before she could do so and scowled.

Then, he saw the last thing he expected: tears in her eyes. She jerked her wrist away and snarled, but her voice broke pitifully, "Yeah, well why not? Don't I make you angry enough to? _Fuck_ you." She shook her head and stormed over to the couch, "I'll sleep on the couch. Just… leave me alone."

His anger, which had already cooled substantially, evaporated, and in its place, a look of confusion crossed his face, "You'll sleep on the couch?"

"Yeah," she narrowed her eyes, confused by his confusion, "What?"

"Why?"

She looked at him as if the answer should be obvious, "It's…your bed."

They were quiet for a moment. Then, Javert clasped his hands behind his back and said, "It was my understanding that when a woman is angry with a man, the man sleeps on the couch."

Her eyes softened at that, but hardened a moment later when she remembered that she was still supposed to be mad at him. Quickly, Éponine shot to her feet and folded her arms, "Fine. You sleep on the couch."

She stormed toward the door to the bedroom and stepped inside, but stopped before closing the door behind her and looked back at Javert, who had turned and was now looking at the sofa, trying to figure out how someone of his height would comfortably sleep on it. Again, her eyes softened, and her fury cooled as well as she watched him sit down, look around for a moment, and then try to place his feet on one of the armrests to accommodate his size. Abruptly, she opened the door, stalked back toward Javert, and climbed atop him without warning, capturing his lips roughly.

When she pulled away, she could see the questions in his eyes, and she shook her head, "Don't sleep on the couch." With a surprising amount of strength, she got to her feet and pulled him up along with her, crushing his body against hers and moaning into his mouth, "_Don't sleep on the couch_."

Javert gave a low_ humph _of approval and picked her up, urging her to wrap her legs around him and carrying her into the bedroom. Once they were there, she took her lips with his again, and Éponine murmured in between each long, deep kiss, "I don't want to fight." She pulled away for a moment and met his eyes, breathing heavily, "I want you."

When she reached down and began to undo his belt, apparently having forgotten their fight only minutes ago, Javert realized just how little he understood women.

Nonetheless, he didn't dwell on it for long and pulled her shirt over her head, then undid her bra and unzipped her jeans masterfully, in the way only someone who knew their partner's body could. Before either of them knew it, they were nude, their clothes lying in heaps on the ground and his shirt resting haphazardly on the lampshade. With a wicked grin, Éponine led him over to the bed and pushed him down upon it, placing her mouth on his toned stomach and kissing the firmness of his chest. The wetness and heat of her lips on his body made him hard almost immediately, and when she felt his burgeoning erection brush against her stomach, she looked up at him with mischief in her eyes. She nipped and bit at his skin as she worked her way down, her soft hands grasping his flesh as if they treasured the feeling of it beneath her palms. After a minute, she reached his groin, and, her eyes dancing, she flicked her tongue at the tip of his cock, making him moan and thrust his hips forward.

His head still reeling – as he could hardly comprehend the fact that she'd gone from screaming at him to wanting to fuck him – he frowned and rasped, "What're you doing?"

"Apologizing."

With that, she took all of him into her mouth and moaned, allowing him to feel the vibration of her voice on his length. His head fell back against the pillows, and he did not even try to hold back the groan that burst forth from his mouth at the feeling. Éponine always seemed to give head as if it was her last day on earth, and she did it without being asked, as though she enjoyed seeing him lose control at her touch, a powerful man crumbling into mere dust before her. Shortly after, however, she pulled away and straddled him, lowering herself down onto his erection and inhaling sharply as he entered her, stretching her almost to the point of pain as he always did. Fascinated by the sight of her naked body and mad with lust, he placed his calloused hands on her ass and squeezed it firmly as she rode him, urging her on. Otherwise, he remained still, and watched Éponine in silence as her breasts bounced and her eyes fluttered shut. He loved watching her as she rode him; somehow, it was infinitely more satisfying than placing her on her hands and knees and fucking her as hard as he could. Though he wouldn't deny he enjoyed that immensely as well, he could never see her face then. He couldn't watch her squeeze her eyes shut in ecstasy, or watch her as she came, which was more beautiful a sight than he'd ever seen in his half a century of life. He thought for a moment that he could look at her for hours like this – riding him so eagerly, bouncing up and down on his cock and looking like a sensual goddess all the while – and never tire of it.

Remaining mostly still, he watched Éponine, taking in every detail he could through the thickness of the night around them. Her hair fell just past her shoulders and obscured one breast from sight, lying in loose waves on her shoulders. Her skin was flushed, her lips forming a perfect 'O' as she grew closer and closer to her climax. Her small, pert breasts bounced as she moved, her nipples hardened with lust and beckoning him to touch them. The entirety of her skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and as he lay there, Javert thought hazily that he'd never seen her look more stunning. He longed to reach up and kiss her lips, her breasts, her belly, yet he longed just as much to remain motionless and let her do with him as she pleased. She picked up pace then, until she was riding him so hard that he could do nothing but moan and grab at her behind, his dull fingernails leaving faint marks on her skin.

"Oh…" she gasped, "I-I'm so…"

All at once, she came, shuddering hard above him and crying out loudly. The rapid fluttering and spasming of her sex around him prompted him to reach his peak as well, and Éponine continued to ride him as they finished together, leaning down after a moment and capturing his lips with hers. She kissed him as they rode the waves of their climaxes, and she panted and moaned against his mouth. His hands roamed her body, squeezing and palming her soft flesh and holding her tightly to him. With a sigh of satisfaction, Éponine rolled off of Javert and laid beside him on the bed as they recovered, their chests heaving as their bodies struggled to regain breath.

After a moment, she turned to him and panted, "I'm…I'm sorry we fought."

"I am as well."

His deep voice sent a shiver through her, and after a tender moment, he urged her onto her side, facing away from him with her body still pressed up close to his, their sweaty skin mixing on the sheets. He kissed her neck and dragged his lips languidly along her shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake and drawing a chuckle from her. After a moment, he brought his lips to her forehead and rested them there, his hot breath blowing on her cheek. He could tell that she was sleepy, and so, instead of climbing atop her, he nudged her legs apart as he continued to kiss her hairline. When she felt him slip inside her, Éponine gasped, but her gasp quickly turned into a soft whimper of pleasure as he took her from the side. His movements were gentle, tender but still intensely pleasurable, and it felt incredible for her to be so close to him like this, to make love in such a gentle way and have him hold her as they moved as one.

With a quiet moan, Éponine reached over and entwined their fingers, rocking her lips in time with his thrusts, "Good…It's so good." She released a shuddering breath, "God, you're good…"

They finished relatively soon after that, and Éponine drifted off contently beside Javert. Minutes later he followed Éponine in slumber with one arm still slung across her, and it was like that that they slept for most of the night, until they received a rather rude awakening around six in the morning.

Javert's cellphone buzzed loudly beside the bed just after dawn, and groggily, he reached over, held it up to his ear, and barked, "What?"

"Javert, we need you down on 48th," one of his co-workers informed him on the other end of the line. Javert glanced over at Éponine as the man spoke, and found that the phone had woken her as well. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and mouthed 'What is it?' at him, but he did not reply and turned his attention back to the phone.

"Why?" he rasped, his voice thick with sleep.

"There's some kind of protest. Angry mob with signs. Chief wants reinforcements down there ASAP in case things get violent."

"I'm on my way," he grunted, then snapped the phone closed and scowled, laying back on the pillows for a moment. Normally he would spring out of bed when duty called, yet now the prospect of leaving his warm bed with Éponine in it for the damp, frigid streets was most unappealing.

With a pout, she moved closer to him, "What's going on?"

"There's a protest. They need reinforcements," he informed her unhappily.

"Don't go," she pleaded, "Stay. It's your day off."

Reluctantly, he rose from bed and began to dress himself in his uniform, "I have to go."

"No you don't," she frowned, "Slack off for once!"

"I can't."

Éponine sighed and resigned herself to dressing as well, as she could tell by the determination in his eyes that he had no intentions of staying. Something occurred to her suddenly, however, and she looked at him with narrowed eyes, "Where is it?"

"48th." Javert stopped what he was doing to look back at her, "Why?"

Éponine gulped, "That's where the café Marius and his friends meet at is. They were talking about something…getting guns, protesting, I-I don't know." Her eyes widened, "It's them. It's gotta be them."

"They're a bunch of children," Javert growled.

She furrowed her brow, "Well, children with guns are kinda more dangerous than regular children."

"Don't worry about it," he said as he buttoned his uniform shirt, "It will be dealt with."

"Let me come," she suggested suddenly, "I know Marius. Maybe I can talk sense into him."

"No. It isn't safe for you," he said simply, and she scoffed.

"And it's safe for you?"

He reached for his gun, "Maybe not. But you aren't going."

Éponine let the matter drop and finished dressing as well, but the moment Javert was out the door, she was hot on his heels, ducking into alleys and always staying a dozen yards behind him lest she risk being seen. They reached the scene of the protest relatively quickly, and she watched from a distance as Javert joined a group of policeman who were monitoring the situation, on standby if anything should happen. Stealthily, she snuck past the cops and into the crowd, only to find that several of Marius's friends had perched themselves on top of some kind of oddly-shaped sculpture in front of a church and were yelling to the people who had gathered in the street below. She noticed Marius standing off to the side, handing out flyers to passersby and occasionally shouting in agreement with his friends when he deemed it necessary, and she frowned.

"How long can we let this go on?" one of the boys cried from atop the sculpture, "The rich get richer and the poor get poorer, and no one does anything! We're here to make a difference, take a stand. Who's with us?"

There was a roar of confirmation from the crowd. Éponine looked on in silence.

"We're going to send a message to Washington that they won't soon forget! We will have our voices heard, my friends. Believe me; we will be heard."

Suddenly, Éponine heard shouting from the area near which the policemen were standing. One of the protestors had lunged at a cop, prompting the man to defend himself against the assault, and soon, other people in the crowd took notice of the scuffle and became angry. Before Éponine even knew what was going on the street had erupted into a massive brawl, and the cops' attempt to maintain order did no good. Lost in the chaos, Éponine ducked punches and avoided kicks, all the while searching desperately for Javert and wishing she'd listened to his warning to stay home. After stumbling on for a while, she slowed her pace and began to back up, overwhelmed by the bedlam around her. Seconds later, she collided with someone else, and she spun around hastily.

The moment she did, she found Javert staring down at her.

His nose was bleeding and his face had several cuts, but otherwise he appeared to be faring fairly well in the fight, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Even though they were in the middle of an angry mob, she felt safe with him beside her, yet clearly he did not feel the same.

"What're you doing here?" he growled, more furious than she'd ever seen him. He grabbed her arm and began to pull her out of the fight, "I told you not to come with me."

"I-I know," she rose her voice over the shouting around them, "I thought I could help-"

Suddenly, a gunshot sounded out from behind them. Javert spun around in shock and Éponine froze, and around them, the fighting increased tenfold. As he led her out of the brawl, he narrowed avoided several punches, yet even so, his iron-like grip on her arm never loosened, and after a torturously long minute, they reached the outskirts of the fighting. Once they were there, he released her and stepped away, breathing heavily.

"Get out of here," he ordered, "I will stay."

"Are you crazy?" she cried, grabbing hold of him and pulling him back into her, "Th-they have guns!"

"It's my duty-"

"Fuck your duty! Come with me."

Again, he shook his head gravely at her before vanishing back into the fighting, "I will be back."

With a heavy heart, she watched him go, and after a while, she backed away from the mob and stumbled toward the barricade of squad cars the police had assembled, sitting down on a curb beside an ambulance and struggling to catch her breath. A paramedic, noticing her cuts and scrapes, offered her assistance, but she shook her head and swatted him away. Javert had told her to get out of here, and she knew that she probably should, but she had no intentions of doing so before she knew he was all right. She knew Javert; he wouldn't go down without a fight, but the protestors here vastly outnumbered the police, and she feared for a moment that perhaps he wouldn't make it out alive. She hadn't heard any more gunshots, however, and the fact comforted her, but as the minutes ticked by and she didn't see Javert reemerge, Éponine began to panic.

More police arrived, and eventually, the riot was contained and the protestors – including Marius and his friends – were subdued. Then, after most everything had settled down, she noticed a haggard-looking figure stumble out of the fray. She shot to her feet, and her breath hitched in her throat when she saw that it was Javert, bruised and bleeding but alive. On shaky legs, she ran toward him and threw herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around him tightly and squeezing him as if to ensure he was real and not a blessed mirage.

"I told you to leave," he reminded her as she buried her head into his shoulder, but he didn't sound angry; if anything, he sounded exhausted.

She broke away and looked up at him, "I wasn't gonna go without you." With a frown, she reached up and pressed her fingers to his bleeding cheek, "What happened in there?"

"The boys leading the protest were arrested. A few others were injured, and taken to the hospital."

"No one died?"

He shook his head, "The gunshot we heard struck a man in the leg."

Exhausted and overwhelmed with joy that he had returned, Éponine collapsed into his arms again. When she spoke, her voice was muffled by his shirt, "You're so_ stupid_. W-why'd you run in there like that? I thought…" Éponine looked at him once more, and when she did, he could see tears glistening in her eyes, "I-I thought they'd…kill you, or something."

"I'm here now," he uttered, and she gave him a watery grin. Without caring if anyone saw, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him hard, pressing her lips up against his as if it was the last time she would ever do it. They were both breathless when she broke away, and for a third time, she wrapped her arms around him and clutched him desperately. They remained like that as the dust on the street settled around them and the policeman hauled off the remaining protestors to jail; they stayed like that even when sirens blared and paramedics scampered about in the wake of the riot, undisturbed by it all and safe in the stronghold of their embrace.

* * *

It was only two days later that they got the call.

The violence in the streets had wound down after the arrest of Marius and his companions, and they had returned to their quiet, mostly peaceful life. Éponine and Javert had just finished eating dinner in his apartment when his phone rang, and he got up to answer it with a frown, as no one save for Éponine and his work ever called him at all. She cleared the dinner plates as she watched him across the room, muttering a few quiet words to the person on the other end of the line with a deep scowl. Once he was finished, he closed the phone and walked back over to Éponine with a grave look on his face.

Immediately, she was concerned, "What is it?"

Javert clenched his jaw and folded his arms, not bothering to dance around the point, "They have scheduled Montparnasse's trial to begin four days from now."

Though she knew what that meant, she flattened her lips into a line, "And?"

"I've been called to testify," he informed her wearily, "As will you, I assume."


End file.
